


Hold On

by somuchforbaggles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Medication, Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Community: deancasbigbang, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Mentions of past Balthazar/Castiel - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Oh, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Past Child Abuse, Suicide Attempt, but really, in case you're not familiar with sarcasm, mentions of:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 92,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchforbaggles/pseuds/somuchforbaggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is sure that nothing in his life will ever change. Everything that happens to him is predictable, from the stability of his job to the unrelenting sporadic anxiety attacks, he can rely on his life to stay the same forever - until he saves Dean Winchester from the path of an oncoming train. From then on, everything changes for both of them, and the only way they can deal with it is together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're On The Right Track

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completed longfic, written for DCBB 2013.
> 
> Thank you to Corinne, who did some fantastic art for this, which can be found [here.](http://ypt-leafotwind.livejournal.com)
> 
> And Sam, my friend and beta, thank you so much. I'm sorry this made you cry into your coffee. Go buy yourself another and pretend I bought it for you.
> 
> Fic, title and chapter titles inspired by [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyWBC1tf0PM)
> 
> Artistic license: Let's pretend that Oregon has its own trainline that runs through various cities and towns, shall we?
> 
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Castiel Milton glanced at the small clock on his desk. Only five minutes until his lunch break. Sighing, he ran a hand through his dark hair. It had been a tiresome morning. The 'problem' clients he usually dealt with were even more problematic, and his patience had been well worn. Castiel would need to go to one of his happy places, in the literal sense.

Picking up the receiver and pressing the button that called his assistant, he planned his dialogue. He was getting better these days, but when Castiel felt as tense as he felt now, it was almost relaxing to revert to the ways ingrained into him from his childhood. _'Think before you speak, Castiel,'_ were the words that echoed through his clustered head as he continued with his own words. _Alfie, I will not be eating in the office today, so no need to add my usual to the floor order._ Or should he add a greeting? _Hello, Alfie –_ No, definitely keep it formal. Perhaps should he just state the first half of the sentence? However, Castiel's second thoughts and anxieties were interrupted by the answer of the phone. He really should have thought about this before he pressed 'call'.

“ _Yes, Mr Milton?”_ his assistant chirped. The happy familiarity of Alfie's boyish tone almost soothed him. Alfie wouldn't talk down to him or raise his voice for no reason, nor would he sigh with exasperation when all Castiel was trying to do was help.

He took a breath and said what he had planned, hoping it would suffice. “Alfie, I will not be eating in the office today.”

“ _Would you like me to order your usual anyway, or are you getting food elsewhere?”_

Castiel almost stuttered on his answer. He should have _foreseen_ questions like these, should have calculated answers to every possible thing Alfie could ask of him. But instead, he had been ironically lazy in favour of getting it over and done with, and now his pulse was racing. “No thank you, I will be straying from my usual today.”

“ _Of course, Mr Milton.”_ With that, Castiel put down the phone. Blowing air out through his nostrils, he tried not to be frustrated with himself. If he'd have just said the first sentence he planned, there would have been no need for the longer conversation. He liked to be concise, clear, and comprehensible. In his line of work, there was no time for confusing the client. Or at least, that was his excuse for the borderline-compulsive behaviour with strangers and acquaintances that had recently reared its head again. It definitely had nothing to do with his concerns of going too long without one of his attacks, and again, today had been vexatious and trying on his ever-present tendency for nerves.

But it _was_ only Alfie he was speaking to, after all. Alfie, whose bright boyish smile had taken up his whole face whenever he was given praise. Alfie Pike was a hard working boy, and when Castiel gave him the job, he was ecstatic. He could tell the boy didn't think he would even make it through applications, but Castiel liked an underdog. He had once lived by getting chances, and now he liked to live by giving them.

His eyes scanned over the clock's face. Three minutes to go. If he was fortunate, he would get no calls; but if there was one thing Castiel wasn't, it was lucky. The phone chirruped in its high pitched grate, and the little 7 flashed red. The customer was being put through by tech support. Arming himself, he ran his usual beginning spiel, attempting a cheerier tone. The people put through from tech were always the rudest.

“Good morning, Higher Planes, my name is Castiel. How may I assist you?”

“ _Jesus Christ. I'm telling you, you'd better be able to damn assist me, you're the fifth guy I've spoken to about this.”_

Castiel was slightly taken aback by the customer's seeming lack of tether, but had no worries that he could solve his problem. There was a reason that this job was created for him, after all. “If it reassures you, I will be the last person you speak to about your issue. If I cannot assist, then any problem you may have will be taken care of in the monetary sense.”

“ _...Right. Well, I wanna know how I can take a stupid iPod player outta my car. I was in hospital for a while, and the guys fixing my car asked my son if I wanted it, and him, being the idiot he is, said yes. All I know is that the player belongs to your company, and the mechanics won't do it because your company also endorses them, so what the hell am I supposed to do? They said to wait for a year or something 'cause of a warranty, and I really don't want to smash my car up again. So, Castiel, you gonna have to pay me to live with it?”_

He released a breath of relief. This man wasn't so difficult. Well, not as difficult as some of the people he'd had to listen to today. “No, sir, I am not going to 'pay you to live with it'. If you simply give me the name and number of the mechanics, I can get them to remove it, as well as reimburse you for the unwanted player.”

“ _Oh.”_ The man sounded pleasantly surprised. “ _Well, thanks, I guess. Do you want my name and number as well? You know, for when you're talking to the mechanics.”_

“That would be helpful, yes.” Castiel took down the information he needed, and planned to call the mechanics after lunch. Usually, he would have done it immediately, but his office walls were closing in on him and he needed to get out before they crushed him. To breathe a little easier, he undid the top button of his shirt and went to loosen his tie but upon doing this, he felt something odd. Stroking the knot, he frowned down at the piece of blue silk. How had he managed to put it on back to front? Making a mental note to take care of it later, he stood up, tucked in his chair and strode out of his office.

“Mr Milton! Sir!” It was Alfie, scrambling out of his chair.

Spinning on his heels, Castiel looked at his assistant expectantly. He knew where he wanted to go, and wanted to make the most of it. But Alfie did not reply, instead half-running, half-walking towards the small alcove that Castiel had never paid much heed to, despite his long run with the company.

“Alfie, I really need to leave, what do you – oh.” His assistant was returning with his overcoat at the same pace as earlier. “Thank you.”

“It's colder out there than it was this morning, Mr Milton, I thought you might want it if you were leaving the building.” Alfie smiled and handed it to him, slightly out of breath.

Castiel shrugged on his coat, nodded his thanks, and made his way out of the building. Usually he wasn't one for distraction, but he stopped at a burger stand on his way. Sometimes, he just couldn't say no to street food, especially if the food in question was the best cheeseburger he'd ever had. Castiel didn't have to say anything to the street vendor; he had frequented it often enough for his order to be remembered. As he ate, he rounded the few corners to his destination, which was marked by an old sign. It had initially read _'Haeds Train Station',_ but had been heavily vandalised, the 'e' and the 'd' switched to now read _'Hades: Welcome to Hell!'._

He understood why one might think it were hell. Back in the 70's, the Mayor at the time had gone ever so slightly insane and bankrupted the town. People were laid off every day, they were evicted from their homes, and worst of all, it was all covered up. It was unseemly to have voted for an unstable man, and even more unseemly for the government to fail with the appropriate background checks. So a new Mayor was elected ( _'suspiciously quickly'_ , his aunt had added when she told him the story), but not before the local train station became a suicide hotspot. After that, Mayor Crowley shut down the train station, and introduced a fast bus system to the nearest station.

Castiel had only found it after running away from his older brothers when they were younger. Michael had politely threatened one of the kids walking past their turf—what it was about, he had forgotten—but he did remember throwing an empty plastic bottle at his brother and yelling, 'Hey assbutt!' to distract him. Looking back at it, it was fairly amusing, but at the time he had been absolutely petrified of his brother's fiery temper and what he or Luc might do to him or the boy. Castiel had ran and ran until he could could only hear the sound of his own feet slapping along the pavement. Slowing and catching his breath, he had seen the sign welcoming him to hell, and his inquisitive nature got the better of him.

Since then, this was his main escape. He had others of course, for when the station was otherwise occupied by children on a dare or train-spotters, and his mind had taken to collectively calling all of them his 'Heavens'. Castiel wasn't sure when he had attributed that name to them, but it seemed fitting as there were seven of them and because he felt completely at peace in all of them. There in his Heavens, he could feel his heart beating a relaxed rhythm in his chest - something he barely had time to feel anymore.

Castiel walked through the main waiting room and out onto platform one. There was no one else here. He released a sigh of mollification and smiled a little, ambling up the platform to his usual spot: the bench obscured by a small billboard that somehow had weeds growing out of it. But of course, in its dilapidated state, nearly all the crevices and nooks at the station had weeds or plants growing out of them. In the spring, the weeds would grow little white bell-shaped flowers and trick the sleepy bees into thinking they held pollen. Looking at the weeds now, in the fall, there wasn't even the hope of a flower growing. There was only the rustle of a few stray dead leaves skirting along the concrete platform. It stayed that way for a while, and so did Castiel while he took conscious control of his breathing and erased the toil the day’s events had had on him.

Although, there was another sound. The almost metallic echo of footsteps in an empty room. Someone was walking through the waiting area. This wasn't strange nor an uncommon occurrence, but what alarmed Castiel was the lack of chatter, or other footsteps for that matter. Just one pair of feet, walking without purpose. _So,_ he thought, _not two teenagers looking for a place to illicitly 'make out'._ The noise was closer now. The person who belonged to the mysterious feet was on the platform. He couldn't hear the sound of graffiti being sprayed, so it wasn't a vandal. With a frown, Castiel tried to reign in his curiosity.

There was never anyone else here on their own. Not at the same time as him, anyway. A thought struck him that he probably shouldn't be here, with no one knowing where he was and only a stranger for company, who could very well be a murderer or a rapist. But Castiel wasn't frightened. Maybe the stranger came here to get away from it all as he did, and they had simply never crossed paths before.

He leant forward and surreptitiously peeked out from behind the billboard, a few green stalks obscuring his vision.

It was another man.

Castiel could only see the back of him; slightly bow-legged, perhaps an inch taller than himself, with short blond hair. No, it was brown. And blond. It changed as the man paced in and out of the sunlight, stray rays shooting through the shield of leaves, glinting it golden. Castiel did think of striking up a conversation with the man, but what would he say? He couldn't even talk to his assistant without meticulously planning his words nowadays. The only people he _could_ speak to with any semblance of confidence were his clients, and that was only because he had been doing it for years, and because he never needed to say anything about himself. ' _Think before you speak, Castiel'_ , his aunt chided in his head again. It was a bad habit, he knew, but he couldn't help what had been drilled into him since childhood, even when his family had cut him off. And even though he did think before he spoke, he always managed to be too blunt or use too-long words for people to have patience with. Castiel supposed he could blame either for his lack of friends.

The sound of a nearby train roared in the distance. They never stopped here anymore, not since the closure, and the declarations of _“This train will not be stopping at this station. Please stand well behind the yellow line,”_ had long stopped, the automatic announcements growing more distorted as time passed until the local council were forced to deactivate the twisted voice that would repeatedly and uglily chirp the same phrases. It seemed as though the man had heard the train too, because his head snapped up and he walked up to the edge of the platform to get a better look. _Ahh. A train-spotter,_ Castiel affirmed. But as soon as he thought the words, he realised how wrong he was.

The man sat down on the edge of the platform, legs swinging before he carefully eased himself onto the tracks. Castiel's eyes widened at seeing that the man planned to stay in that spot until he was forced into several, and it was a natural instinct to stand and run over to him. He had, what, ten seconds to get him out of there? Not even that. The man was facing the oncoming train, arms outstretched and eyes closed. Somehow, he had managed to miss the lines that would get him electrocuted. That made Castiel wonder whether the man really wanted to die after all, but there was no time to lose.

With a surge of adrenalin he jumped down, and the man glanced over his shoulder to see where the unexpected ruckus was coming from. The train blared its horn, distracting the man long enough for Castiel to wrap an arm around his waist, bring another to his shoulder, and tackle him to the harmless tracks beside them. Well, Castiel guessed they were harmless, he had never seen a train run on them, and platform two had been out of service since before the station closed. They landed sprawled on the gravelly tracks, the man beneath him. Castiel tried to protect the man's body as much as he could, keeping his left hand on the man's shoulder, his right turning his head away from the close up of the trains underbelly.

It felt as though it look minutes to pass.

When the thunder of the carriages finally sounded far away enough, Castiel took his hand off his face. The man's head slowly turned to look up at him, shock, wonder and anger playing out in his expression. His jaw was slightly agape, and Castiel couldn't help but think how beautiful the man he just saved was, even with the ghost of gravel on one side of his face and a faint hand print on the other.

“Are – are you God?” It was a little voice, almost as if a child had asked the question, but the gruff tone countered it.

“No, but that's a nice compliment,” Castiel began. “I'm Castiel.”

The man realised himself and pushed Castiel off of him. He slowly got to his feet, shaking a little and glaring down at Castiel. “What the hell, man? Why'd you do that? You smell like goddamn cheeseburgers!”

Ignoring the comment about cheeseburgers, Castiel drew himself to his full height, disdain and pride colouring his features. “I cannot stand by and watch a man throw himself under a train.”

“Yeah well next time, just stand there. Or walk away. 'Cause they _want_ to end it. Okay?”

Castiel tried to keep a calm composure. He pulled himself up onto the platform, reaching a hand out to help the other man up. The man in question just looked at it with his nose wrinkled, like it had offended him. Which, Castiel supposed, probably had done. The man shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I'm waitin' here for the next one.” The man crossed his arms in defiance.

“No, you're not. Take my hand.”

“ _Yes,_ I am! I'm not taking your damn hand, _Castiel_.” He spat his saviour's name out, and it shouldn't have hurt him, but Castiel felt a pang of pain.

He scowled. “I _will_ pull you up, whether you like it or not.”

Pursing his lips, the man looked around in irritated dismay. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, “ _Fine,_ ” and allowed himself to be pulled up. They stood facing each-other for a few seconds, each eyeing the other up. The man was still trembling slightly. Castiel recognised the look in the man's eyes; the numbing hopelessness and great sadness was instantly identifiable if one had seen it in a mirror.

Castiel cocked his head to one side. “You don't think you deserve to be saved,” he matter-of-factly said and the man's eyes wandered, looking everywhere but him. Castiel took it upon himself to talk some sense into him. With a hand on his shoulder again, he made the man meet his eyes, and slowly started:

“Every soul is worth saving. I don't know why you chose this, but it is not the favourable option. Death is not the only way out. There is help, there are friends, family, people who love you. They would be sad to learn of this, I think.”

He gestured to the tracks, and glanced back at the man, who had that childlike look about him again. Castiel sighed, and led the man over to the nearest bench. Perhaps that would ease his quivering legs.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the wind pull off the last of the autumn leaves from the trees that decorated the outskirts of the station. The man was calm. _Too calm,_ thought Castiel. Surely someone who had just tried to commit suicide would be a little more...broken. He certainly was. But the man's face was now a blank, the formerly-expressive green eyes glossed over. Castiel almost expected it when rage bubbled up from inside his body and spewed out of his mouth.

“And who are you, huh? Who are _you,_ to decide if I live or die?” His tone was cold and harsh. “You don't know me. You know fuck all about what family I got, or friends, or anything about my life! You're right. Did you wanna hear that? You're damn right I don't think I deserve to be saved, but it's not up to some dude in a trenchcoat to decide for me whether I live or die.” The man was standing up now, just shouting. Castiel planned to take it, but he couldn't listen to the man berate the both of them for long.

“You're probably just some guy in a suit with a hero complex. Well, pal, you don't know how I feel, or even what it's _like_ to feel like this, like -”

“Like you're a failure to everyone?” Castiel growled, grabbing the man's jacket lapels and throwing him up against the exterior of the other waiting room. He got in close to the man's face, keeping his voice low. “Like anything you could possibly do, you'd only make it worse? Like the only way forward is to rid the world of you? Yes, I suppose you're right. I know _nothing_ of how you feel. About what it's like to not see a light at the end of the tunnel, and not care. Perhaps before you cast these kinds of aspersions, you should think about whether this 'guy in a suit' would understand your plight.” He punctuated some of his words with pushes, and the man was just taking it as Castiel had done earlier with his words.

“I am going to give you my number, and the next time you feel like this, I want you to call me. I don't care what time of day it is, you _call._ I will answer. Do you promise? _Do you promise me?_ ”

“Yes,” the man breathed, barely audible.

“Good.” Castiel let go of him, and stepping away, he resumed his stoic stance. “Do you have a phone I could enter it in?”

The man searched about in his pockets for his phone, wordlessly handing it over when he found it. Castiel keyed his name and number in, and gave it back. “What's your name?" he asked softly, deliberately more gentle after the forceful nature of their previous conversation.

“I'm Dean. Dean Winchester.” Castiel could scarcely read him. He was so closed off, so guarded. But he was hardly one to talk, Castiel could probably count his default expressions on one hand.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel stretched a hand out. “My name is Castiel Milton. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Dean stared at the outstretched hand for a second, before taking it and shaking it firmly. Their eyes met once more, and Castiel could have sworn he saw a hint of gratitude. He gave a small smile to Dean, attempting to reassure him.

Dean shrugged non-committally, as if he knew what Castiel was trying to wordlessly communicate. “You don't have to worry about me, man. I'm not gonna try again. Not today at least, you kinda ruined it for me.”

“Well, I'm glad I did. Are you sure I can't take you home, or to a friend's? I would like to be sure that you are safe and well.” Castiel didn't know why he offered, he had _walked_ here, for goodness sake. This is what happened when he didn't think about what he was going to say.

With a quiet snort, Dean shook his head and said, “Nah, I'm good. I'll just - hey, Castiel, do you know what the time is?”

Castiel wanted to know where that sentence was going, and eyed Dean suspiciously. The man was already wearing a watch, why did he need Castiel to confirm the time? He flicked his wrist to look at his watch anyway, and his eyes widened upon noting it.

“It's almost 12:40. Dean, I'm sorry, but I have to leave. Are you sure you're going to be all right?”

Castiel saw the silent plea to stay in Dean's eyes, and was all too willing to if he needed him. But it was blinked away, replaced with internal barriers and coupled with a thick voice. “Yes! If I want to do it again, I'll call you. I know the drill.”

Wanting to adhere to Dean's wishes, he chose to forget the man's expressive eyes. “Thank you. Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel turned to leave, but had another thought. Swivelling around to face Dean, he called, “I don't regret saving you. And I don't think you regret it either.”

Dean looked a little taken aback by that, and Castiel didn't think he would reply, but after a few beats he responded, “Yeah well...Your tie's back to front!”

Castiel smiled and made his way up the stairs, back to platform one and through the exit. He took one last look at Dean, who had sat down on the bench again and was watching him right back. The only thing Castiel regretted was having to go back to work. He would have liked to stay with Dean until he knew that he definitely wasn't going to do something like that again, but there was something in Dean's eyes ( _those eyes_ ) that told him that this was over for today. Dean was telling the truth when he said, 'Not today'.

Castiel could think of nothing else as he walked back to work, and Dean was on his mind so much that it distracted him from his calls. Even Alfie had picked up on his strange mood. Castiel had spoken to Dean without contemplation, without reviewing all outcomes of his speech before talking. What was that about? Dean had somehow unlocked a part of Castiel without even trying. There were only a handful of people he could fearlessly and freely talk to, and now this man was one of them. He was conflicted. On one hand, Castiel longed to know everything about the man who had wormed his way through the cracks in his psyche, destroying all evidence that he ever thought before he spoke, and wished for his call. On the other, however, if Dean called him, it would mean that he was contemplating suicide again, and Castiel didn't want that. For now though, he would give up his selfish instincts, and hope that Dean didn't call.


	2. You're Standing On The Brink

Dean watched Castiel leave, his breathing becoming more laboured with every step the man took away from him. It felt like his throat was closing up, like he was being strangled by life - the life that should have ended about ten minutes ago. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

Dean had been at peace with dying. Everything had been perfect when he had jumped onto the tracks, avoiding the lines (death by train would be quicker and more or less painless – electrocution was not desirable in comparison) and stretching out his arms, welcoming the oncoming locomotive. Dean had finally been at peace with himself and the world, his mind free from the ghosts that had been haunting him. But then he had heard something behind him, and the next thing he knew he was on the next railway line, the vacant one, being held down by strong hands splayed over his shoulder and head.

And then he had seen these eyes, these ethereal blue eyes, staring down at him. There was only one explanation Dean could think of. That train station was completely empty, he had checked. The thing that had pushed him out of the path of death must have been God. Or an angel of some kind, if not.

But it was just some dude in a trenchcoat with a stupid name. Castiel. Castiel had tackled him to the ground, protecting his body from even attempting to protest the weight above it. When Dean had gotten over the fact that they were just staring at each other, he came to his senses and pushed the guy off of him. He smelt like he'd just had a cheeseburger. Dean supposed that that was one downside to not being dead. He didn't even know if there _was_ an afterlife, let alone if they had cheeseburgers there.

Castiel had insisted on pulling him up. Dean wanted to wait for the next one, and even managed to sound like himself when he was arguing, but the palm of the other man's hand was unwavering in its offer. When Castiel had spoken to him, saying that his family would be sad to learn of his attempt, a memory had bubbled to the surface of his mind. One he thought long suppressed.

_A wheezy cough and the chink of glass as a shaking hand poured a drink. He had lost count of how many it was. But for the glass to almost be chipped by the decanter, it had to be a high number._

“ _You may have gotten Sam out, but where were you when it started? Where were_ _you, son?” A threatening growl in a tone he was growing used to. It was best just to be silent, but to stay on guard. Sammy couldn't see his father like this._

And that just made him mad. This guy knew _nothing_ of his family, of what they would really think of this. Dad would probably be angry that he hadn't succeeded. Sammy wouldn't care. So he exploded, wanting Castiel to regret saving him. He had looked completely unruffled by Dean's comments until the man's jaw clenched and his hands had pushed him against something hard. Castiel had been angry, hissing some words and lacing others with passion. Whoa. And he had just _taken_ it. Dean Winchester doesn't take shit from just anybody. But he deserved it. This guy...he kinda _got_ it. When he told Dean to call him if he ever wanted to... _you know_ , again, his tone had been the same. Still passionate, but this time edged with empathy, and more demanding.

Not that he was going to actually call this guy if he ever wanted to jump in front of a train again.

This guy, with a stupid name, who had a voice like the gravel he pushed Dean onto, who smelt like really good cheeseburgers and had his tie on back to front. Who had _smiled_ at him when they introduced themselves like it was the first time they'd ever laid eyes on each other. But Dean knew better of course. Castiel's dark shock of hair was still adorably puffed up in anger from when he'd thrown him against that wall. _Wait, what? Adorable? Must be 'cause I'm still feeling light headed..._ he thought. His breathing had turned shallow because every time he tried to inhale deeply, it just made him shaky.

Castiel had looked at him like he was looking into his soul, silently urging it to to listen to him and believe him. ' _Please don't try it again. You are worth something. You are worth saving.'_   He never even dreamt that the whisper in his head could be the one redeeming part of his flawed psyche. If it was a really bad day he would have ignored the whispers, but he was just feeling...antsy. His restlessness was what led him to the train station, but it could also take him away. So perhaps today was not the day to try and end it.

He could probably go into work. Dean was a part-timer on a construction site, so thankfully never had to go in unless he was absolutely needed. They had called this morning, saying that they could use the extra hands. Dean had said that he would try and make it in. He was going to tell Castiel that he would go into work, maybe give the guy some hope that he wasn't going to hang around and wait for another train, but realised that he didn't even know the time.

And then Castiel had to go. He said he didn't regret saving him, that he didn't think Dean did either. Dean stood gobsmacked for a moment. Did he regret it? Would he rather be dead right now, or thankful that his piteous life was continuing? Dean honestly didn't know. So he deflected, with the first thing that came to mind.

“Yeah well...Your tie's back to front!”

The fucker had smiled at him again. That small smile that was all in the guy's stupidly expressive blue eyes.

So here he was, in an abandoned train station, trying not to have a panic attack and watching a shrinking trenchcoat flap in the breeze. Somehow, the movement of the coat was relaxing him. Dean found himself able to breathe without thinking about it.

Reaching the bare minimum for normality, Dean got up and walked out of the station. Instead of going to work, he found himself wandering the streets. He watched people going back into their buildings after lunch, saw a few kids playing with a pile a dead leaves while their parents fondly looked on, and even recognised a few places he hadn't been since he was a child.

Dean moved to Haeds, Oregon, when he was almost five. His dad had understandably wanted a change of scenery after mom's funeral, so they upped and left in the '67 Chevy Impala, only stopping when a seven-month old Sammy needed feeding or changing. It was a fairly long trek, from Kansas to Oregon, and most of it was in silence. John Winchester couldn't bring himself to listen to any music that might remind him of his wife, which was all music.

Eventually Dean's legs got tired and it was starting to get dark, meaning that he had been wandering without a destination for hours now. Finding some spare change in his pocket, he hopped on a bus that took him to the stop a couple hundred yards from the apartment he had been living in alone for four years.

The elevator doors taunted him with the 'Out of Service' sign that had been taped there since before he started living there. Dean had never been so exasperated with it. He pulled himself up the banister of the six flights of stairs to the third floor, where his apartment was. Unlocking the door, he went straight to his bedroom and flopped onto the bed, fully clothed. He wasn't hungry, and he just wanted to sleep. ' _Hopefully I won't wake up,'_ was his last thought before he drifted off, as it was every time his head hit the pillow. It was a dreamless sleep, which Dean was grateful for. Some nights, he kept himself up with pills and drink, just to avoid the nightmares.

* * *

The next morning, Dean woke with a groan and slapped his alarm clock to shut it up. “Yeah, how'd you like that, bitch?" he muttered, rolling over and rubbing his face into his pillow. It took a while before Dean mustered up the energy to even think about getting out of bed, and after beating himself up for ten more minutes, he sat up, swinging his legs out of bed and padding to the kitchen. Remembering the events that had passed the day before, he added a little kick to his morning coffee.

For three days, Dean went through the motions, forcing himself to go about his routine. He worked when they needed him, he did a little grocery shopping, and he watched TV. Dean wasted _hours_ watching TV. It was mainly Dr. Sexy, M.D. (which he totally didn't jerk off to) or re-runs of Star Trek. So far, the channel had gone all the way through the series’ to Deep Space 9, but he couldn't even find the heart to roll his eyes at Sisko's weird line deliveries and awkward hand gestures.

On the fourth day, the sun insistently crept through the curtains, highlighting the corner of his living room where his neglected acoustic guitar stood. The rays bounced off the metal pegs that tuned the strings, causing the guitar to repeatedly catch his eye. He had planned to sell it, but it held too much sentimental value. Sam had bought it from a pawn shop as a Christmas present for him, and the memory still brought a lump to his throat. Dean hadn't played it in months, and it was gathering a thick layer of dust. Speaking of, it had been weeks since Dean had cleaned properly and suddenly hit with a wave of motivation, he scoured the cupboards for any cleaning solutions he could find. If he was going to die soon, he might as well leave his things organised, right? His dad would be disappointed to find the place filthy instead of up to his military standard of straight lines and sparkling surfaces. Seeing as his father expected him to be nothing more than a disappointment, this was his last chance to prove him wrong.

By the end of the clean he had three black trash bags to take out, filled with the like of old pizza boxes, stained shirts and old junk - now the apartment looked clean, but bare. Dean walked over to his guitar, picking it up and bringing it to the sofa so he could take care of it sitting down. He took his time, using a wet wipe to pick up the dust off of the sleek wood and carefully clean through the strings. Dean wondered if he could still tune by ear, so hummed the notes by what he hoped was an accurate memory, keeping the pitch as he twisted the knobs this way and that until he found the right combination. He used the little trick he learnt from one of his old music teachers at school: The fifth fret of the previous string should have the same pitch as the next open string. Satisfied, Dean played a few chords, leaning back into his sofa and closing his eyes, letting his fingers relearn the harmonies of each note. The sun was warming his face through the window behind the TV, and Dean dozed off in the sunlight.

A few hours later, he awoke in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. The sun beating down on him had obviously triggered the memories again, the heat infecting his mind. Dean checked the time on his phone. 22:14. He fancied a walk. After the rigorous cleanse of his apartment, his legs needed stretching.

Again, Dean wasn't sure where he was going but he found himself not caring, just picking places on signs and aimlessly strolling in that direction. Nothing like a good walk to clear his head. He knew that he shouldn't be walking the streets at this time, really. Dean also knew that he was a moderately good-looking man, and he attracted all kinds of attention. Drunk women on bachelorette parties shouted come-ons at him and lone men leered at him, but again, he couldn't bring himself to care whether he got raped or murdered. If he could take Castiel pushing him against a wall without a fight, he could take anything those sons of bitches gave him. It'd just give him more reason to top himself.

Which is when he found himself shivering on a bridge overlooking the highway that linked Haeds to the outside world. _I shoulda put on more layers._ Dean looked down at all the passing cars below him, wondering if they were leaving for good, or if others were just driving through to get to the beach at night. He read a book to Sammy once, when they were kids. It was about a mom who took her daughter to the beach at night. Sam had asked why they never did anything like that, and Dean just closed to book and went to bed. Maybe mom would have read that book to them. Maybe Sam would have asked the same question. She would have smiled one of her knowing smiles, and woken them up a couple of nights later, and taken them to the nearest beach.

 _If I jumped, would I die from the fall, or by a car hitting me when I land?_ Perhaps if there was an afterlife, he would see his mom again. There would be a beach in Heaven, and they would only go when the moonlight was glinting off of the waves. She would make pie, and Dean would hug her as thanks. He used his arms to pull himself onto the waist-high, metre wide barrier that separated the bridge from the plunge, sitting on it and swinging his legs over the edge as he had done on the train platform.

 _Shit. Castiel._ He promised he would call if he was going to do it again. Dean didn't want to, by any means, but he didn't want the guy to feel like it was his fault if he saw Dean's name in the obituary of the town paper or if his highway suicide made the news. Reaching for the phone in his front jeans pocket, he toyed with the buttons before pressing 'call'.

“ _Hello?”_   Definitely Castiel. The voice was a little thick with sleep, but it was the gruff tone of the man who had saved his life four days ago, as well as giving him a nasty, weirdly shaped bruise on his left shoulder.

“Um, hi, Castiel. It's Dean. Dean Winchester. You know, the guy from the train station?” Dean heard Castiel sit up in bed.

“ _Yes, I remember. What's wrong? Where are you? You're not -”_

“Yeah, I am.” Dean didn't know what it was about this guy, but it suddenly felt like the cold wasn't the only reason for his shivering. It had to be because he had seen Dean at his most vulnerable.

“ _Dean.”_ He couldn't figure out if Castiel pitied him or was just disappointed. Probably both. “ _Where are you? I'm on my way.”_

“Uh, on the bridge overlooking the highway out of town. And into town. You know what I mean.”

“ _Don't do anything reckless. I'll be there as soon as I can.”_ A grunt came from the other end of the phone and Dean could only assume Castiel was dressing himself blindly, trying to stay on the line at the same time.

Despite himself, Dean smirked at the mental image he was conjuring up. “Reckless? Me? Don't know what you mean, Castiel.”

“ _I would beg to differ, what with your previous escapades. Would you prefer” -_ another grunt - “ _insouciant? Either way, just stay where you are and wait for me.”_

It seemed like Dean had only closed his eyes for a moment to feel the light of the moon on his face when a sudden voice startled him.

“When I was eighteen, I committed myself into a therapy-based clinic. A clinic for the...shall we say, mentally deficient.”

Dean's head snapped round to find Castiel beside him leaning on the barrier and watching the stars with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Don't worry, I was never fully insane,” he distantly assured, voice strained by the angle of his upturned head. “It was only a psychological breakdown.”

“Oh, _only_ a psychological breakdown, I see.” Castiel smiled at that.

The stars of the inky night sky reflected in his eyes, catching Dean's marvelling gaze, and Castiel impassively continued his story. “Before I committed myself, I tried to kill myself, too. No, I'm not telling you how. You might get ideas. But just as I was about to 'finish myself off', I had a moment of clarity. That I didn't have to live like that. That I could change my future. What I didn't realise, however, is what I would be forced to give up. I cast myself out from my family. They wanted to ignore it, pretend that it had never happened. But me, I wanted to treat it. I spent almost a year in there. I still take medication for anxiety, even after eight years.”

Dean was staring at Castiel with the same amount of concentration that Castiel was stargazing with. Obviously this was a topic that he rarely breached, and Dean didn't blame the guy for not wanting to look at him.

“I lost my family, I lost my faith...and when I checked out, they were gone. They had moved away, with little more than a message left with the new owner of my old home.” Castiel cleared his throat as his voice cracked from the cold air amongst other things. “The clinic gave me a halfway house and a reference. Since then, I've worked with the same company - the only place that would take me on with my past.”

Dean attempted a little mental maths, but couldn’t concentrate enough to get a definitive number, so he asked, “Whoa, wait, how old are you?”

“Twenty seven.” Castiel recited his age softly, as though wondering where the years had gone.

“So you've worked at the same place for – what – eight years? How have you not gone _more_ crazy?”

With a wrought look, Castiel raised an eyebrow and quipped, “I appreciate your sensitivity, Dean. But yes. Eight years. Though not the same job. I've worked my way up. Two years in the mail room, one year in the technology department, three years as an assistant, and now two years as a...well, it doesn't have a specific title. It was created for me, essentially. I answer the calls that others can't, I liaise with other companies, that sort of thing.”

Dean floundered, his brain not functioning enough to come up with something to continue the conversation. “Sounds...interesting?" he tried.

Castiel dropped his head, smiling, and made a noise. Dean guessed it was a snort of amusement. “And you, Dean. What do you do?”

He gave a lacklustre grunt. “Construction worker.”

“Sounds interesting.” Castiel looked at him then, laughter playing in his eyes. Dean was disappointed he couldn't make out their proper colour in the darkness, only the stars. So it wasn't all bad, and what was left of his disappointment was blinded by the sparkle of them.

His laugh was delayed by his stupid eye-gazing and he quickly saved his straight pride by responding, “Did you ask me that _just_ so you could make that comment?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel pushed himself away from the barrier. Dean eyed him curiously. Where was he going?

But all Castiel did was walk behind him. It was awkward for Dean to look directly over his shoulder, so he scooted around, legs hanging off the less dangerous side now. Castiel was looking up at him patiently, eyebrows slightly raised in expectation.

Dean frowned. “What are you waiting for?”

“I can assist you if you'd like, but I assumed that you would be perfectly capable of bringing yourself down.”

“You think you've talked me down?” Upon the questioning tilt of Castiel's head, Dean sighed. “It's not that simple, Cas. Cas _tiel,_ sorry.”

Cas _tiel_ quietly hummed and flicked his eyes down as though he were running through an inner monologue of sorts. _“_ No, it's quite all right,” he confidently piped, looking wondrously at Dean. “You may call me 'Cas' if you wish. I've never had a nickname before.”

Scandalized, Dean’s brows drew together and his mouth took on a shape of horror. “What?! Dude, you're twenty seven and you've never had a nickname?”

He shifted in unwarranted guilt and sheepishly said, “Well, a few of my brothers...and someone else, they used to call me 'Cassie', but I never particularly took to it. I much prefer 'Cas'.”

They stayed silent for a while. Dean contemplated getting down, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it yet.

“Hey, Cas?" he tentatively started.

“Yes, Dean?”

“What would you do if I leant back right now?”

Castiel’s answer was fast and firm. “I would catch you.”

“Wanna put your reflexes to the test?”

“No.” With that, Castiel grabbed Dean's hands and jerked them towards him. Dean's backside slid off the barrier, and his legs just gained foot enough to not fall on his ass.

He stared at Cas, agape. “What the hell, man?”

“I didn't want to run any risks.” Dean opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Castiel smoothly cut him off. “Now, did you drive here?”

The interruption made Dean's mouth open and close like a goldfish's, and he floundered even more under Castiel's firm tone. “...I kinda walked.”

Castiel gazed at him in disbelief and disapproval. “At this hour? Dean, you need to be more careful.”

“Come on, Cas, this is _me_ we're talking about! I don't _care_ what happens to me.”

Dean was roughly taken by the shoulders again, the slender fingers choking them with a vice-like grip. “I care, Dean. I care what happens to you.” A determined glint flashed in Castiel's eyes, and it convinced him for a couple of seconds that this complete stranger really did care.

Dean avoided the hard stare, mumbling, “Thanks, man.” Castiel released Dean from his hold, missing the way the man rubbed at his left shoulder with a disgruntled huff.

“Let me take you home.”

“Ooh, back it up a little, Cas! We haven't even been on a date yet.” He winked at the other man, who was rolling his eyes. Castiel led them to his car, pressing a button on his keys to unlock it. They got in, and Dean directed them to his place.

* * *

The journey had been pleasant enough. It had only taken around ten minutes as the roads were practically empty, save for a few foxes. Dean had underestimated how far he had actually walked. Castiel had put the radio on, a talk show. The volume was on low and the anchors had soothing voices that lulled Dean to sleep. But he didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping meant nightmares. Plus, he didn't want to drool on Cas's car. He barely knew the guy and even though he'd kind of saved Dean's life a couple of times, Dean was sure that he would regret it if he found a weird dried patch where he'd been resting his head. He knew if someone did that in _his_ baby, he'd go berserk, so every time he felt himself drifting off, he would force open his eyes and count the street lights.

When they arrived at Dean's apartment, he glanced over to his driver. Castiel had bags under his eyes that rivalled the homeless lady’s not ten feet from where they were collection. He always wondered why she had so many, but had never asked.

“Hey man, you wanna take my couch for the night? I feel bad for you helpin' me an' all, just for you to be exhausted,” he honestly proffered, his head trying to nod with sincerity and shake away sleep at the same time.

“I assure you Dean,” - Castiel broke off his sentence to yawn - “it is not your fault I am tired. I simply had to get up early to go to work today.”

Dean grimaced. “Dude, it's a Saturday. Why were you working?”

“I was complacent during the week.” And he had been. Castiel had been wondering if Dean would call, if Dean even kept Castiel's number in his phone, or if he had ended his life in a less public place where no one could save him. Castiel had imagined him hanging from a rope, body limp and lifeless, or in a bathtub, the water surrounding him tinged crimson with blood. Granted, they weren't the most inventive of suicides, but they were the first things that came to mind. Whenever a client rang him now, Castiel couldn't help but ponder upon what their backstory was, if that break in their voice was a cause of a bad throat or from just pulling it together enough to dial a number.

Dean watched as Castiel cast his eyes down in embarrassment. He looked like the kind of guy that hated it when he did anything less than his best, and Dean felt that it was his fault. If Cas had never pushed him out of the way of that train, he would have had a nice normal lunch, and would have gone back to work like nothing had happened. Did Castiel even like him? Or did he just feel obligated to help him out, simply because he happened to be in the same place as Dean while he worked out his issues by killing himself? Dean tried to push these thoughts from his head, and felt an unfamiliar ache in his stomach. He must be hungry.

“Let's order pizza,” he blurted out, surprising himself with the sudden vocalised thought.

“To celebrate my complacency?” Cas questioned, and Dean couldn't figure out whether this was him trying to be funny or not.

All the same, he barked a laugh, ignoring the fact that he'd smiled more tonight than he had in years, despite it being the very same night he had contemplated jumping off a bridge. “No, man, to get your energy up. Can't have you fallin' asleep at the wheel. I know a really good place, open for order 24/7.”

Castiel examined the face of the man sitting across from him. While his words were playful, his wide green eyes were pleading and the line of his mouth worried. He didn't really want to leave Dean alone after what had just happened. So Castiel agreed. Begrudgingly, he dragged himself up the stairs while Dean chuckled to himself.

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Dean switched the on the TV, gesturing for Castiel to take a seat on the sofa. He handed him the remote with his free hand and Castiel looked at him in awe, like Dean had given him the holy grail. Cas got an eyebrow raise for that one.

He ordered a Meat Feast, remembering that Castiel definitely wasn't a vegetarian judging by what he had probably eaten the last time they had met. Plus, it was his favourite. Falling onto the couch, he tried not to sprawl on it like he usually did. Dean had a guest. He was suddenly grateful that he had tidied today, and noticing that the channel was the same one that had flickered on the screen when he'd turned the TV on, he turned his head to see Castiel's confused frown at the remote. Upon realising he was being watched, Cas almost blushed, and mumbled something incoherent.

“What?” Dean came closer to hear clearer, giving Cas's tentative words the benefit of the doubt.

Castiel audibly breathed in discomfort and ashamedly admitted, “I said that...I am unfamiliar with the workings of a television.”

Dean blinked, his face blank with disbelief as to what he had just heard. “Again - what?”

“I have one, but...I simply never use it,” Cas shrugged.

“Well then, Cas. I gotta school you on the awesomeness that is TV. Another day though, let's just watch it for now, wait for the pizza.” Dean reached over and lightly grabbed the remote out of Castiel's grip, flicking through channels until he found something decent.

“Oh man – Tron's on? I love Tron! Cas, if you don't like this movie, we can't be friends.”

Cas looked startled. “Are we not already friends?”

Would Dean consider what they had friendship? So far, it was like having an AA buddy, but instead of calling him every time he wanted to drink, he called Cas if he wanted to off himself. But he'd brought Cas to his apartment, and ordered pizza, and Cas had told him about himself. So they were kind of friends. Obviously Cas thought so, and he didn't want to hurt the guy's feelings, so he thought of them as friends too. Having a friend was a strange concept for Dean.

“Yeah, we are,” he agreed. “I don't bring just anyone up here.” _Because I've been wallowing in self-pity in it ever since I moved in,_ he silently added. Cas didn't meet his eyes, he just gently smiled and watched as the Master Control Program hatched its plan with Sark.

Half an hour later, the pizza arrived, and as soon as the door closed on the pizza guy, Dean spun on his heels and declared, “Meat Feast, baby!” He pulled up the stool he usually rested his feet on, and set the pizza box down on it. Opening the box, he grinned at Castiel and offered him the first slice. Castiel blinked.

“You like meat, right? You look like the kinda guy who does.”

Castiel blinked again. Dean's face was free of stress, unlike earlier when it had been hard with whatever was haunting him. It soon changed to a blush though, as he exclaimed, “Aw, shit, I didn't mean it like that. Not that there's anything wrong with liking – y'know, _meat_ , it's just that...” Dean trailed off at the confusion in Cas's eyes, paired with a frown.

“I don't understand. I know there's nothing wrong with preferring meat on pizza. In fact, you were correct in your estimation of me.”

“Oh, good.” Dean's fluster petered out, and he added, “But...you know it's cool otherwise, right?”

“What is?” Cas's eyes were wide with innocence again as he carefully took a bite of pizza, his hand cupped underneath it should some of the toppings fall off.

His face quickly warming to an uncomfortable heat, Dean ignored the pizza for a few seconds while his hands seemed to move of their own accord. “Liking...meat.”

“I have an inclination that we mean different things, Dean, and I am uncertain as to what you are referring to.” Castiel was so patient with him it unnerved him.

Dean let out a huff of exasperation, before sliding a hand over his face and just laughing at the guy's ridiculous vocabulary. “ _Dick,_ dude - I'm saying that it's cool with me if you like dick. If you're gay, whatever. It's all fine.”

“Oh. Thank you, I suppose.”

And so they sat like that throughout the duration of the film, shoulders rubbing whenever one of them brought a slice of pizza to their mouth. When the credits had finished rolling, Dean turned his head to gauge Cas's reaction to the film, and he was met with an open-mouthed expression - not in awe at the amazing film that was Tron, but because Castiel had fallen asleep and was gradually being absorbed into the couch with half a slice of pizza slowly staining his shirt. His shirt, which Dean noted, hadn't been buttoned properly. What was it with this guy? First the backwards tie, now the uneven shirt? He must have put it on wrong when he was rushing to Dean. Dean felt a surge of guilt and took the pizza off of the man's chest. He didn't really want to wake Cas up. He looked so peaceful, like a sleeping kitten. But that totally wasn't cute. Dean was allergic to cats.

With a sigh, he got up and boiled some water to make coffee. Castiel probably had a life to get back to, where he didn't watch TV and he acted the good samaritan to complete strangers. Dean guessed that Cas probably took his coffee black with a little sugar, and quietly walked over to his sleeping guest with it. Gently shaking Castiel's shoulder, he waited until the man's eyes groggily fluttered open before whispering, “Hey, Cas. I made you some coffee. I'd let you stay the night, but you probably have places to be, right?”

Cas sleepily took the mug out of Dean's hands. “Thank you, and no, I don't have anywhere to be in particular. But it is probably best that I get home,” he replied in an especially low voice. “What is the time?”

Dean pressed the button that got the guide up on the TV, and whistled. “It's 3am dude, sure you don't wanna take the couch? I'd rather you crash here than on the road.”

Cas shook his head as he brought the rim of the mug to his lips, testing the heat of the drink with a sip. “The coffee will be sufficient to keep me conscious on the drive home, thank you.”

“Okay.” Dean found himself disappointed. He hadn't had proper, human, friendly contact like this in months. Perhaps years. Any friends he had had never really stuck around, and his family wasn't even worth mentioning. And Cas seemed cool, despite falling asleep during one of Dean's favourite films.

Castiel reached the bottom of his mug, and pushed himself up off the sofa, brushing pizza crumbs away. He made a little keening sound as he noticed the stain on his shirt.

“Oh yeah – you got that while you were doin' a Sleeping Beauty,” Dean smirked. “And your shirt's not buttoned up properly.”

Castiel sighed as he surveyed himself. “Are you going to point out my inability to dress myself properly every time we converse, Dean?”

Dean's smirk evolved into a gleaming grin at the man's amused exasperation. “Only if you carry on forgetting how to do the simple stuff, like tying a tie, or buttoning a shirt. Even I know how to do it, and I don't even wear that kinda stuff!”

Dean took that moment to fully take in what Castiel had clothed himself in, upon his call. He had that trenchcoat on again, that once-white shirt, mismatched shoes, and a pair of jeans with the pockets turned out. Dean tried to keep his laugh low, so as to not attract noise complaints from the neighbours, and it just ended up as a rumble in his chest with another smirk.

“Does something amuse you, Dean?”

“Just you, Cas. Just you,” he waved off. “You want me to walk you out?”

Cas nodded, all vigour sapped by his worn energy. It wouldn't be long now until the caffeine kicked in. “If it is not too much trouble. I think I saw a keypad on the lock of the door.”

“Ahh, that hasn't worked in years. But I'll walk you down anyway.”

Castiel seemed to take going down the stairs much better than he did going up them. _These corporate suits,_ Dean fleetingly thought, _always usin' the elevators. They'd probably burn if a fire broke out in their building._ Shit. Fire. Why did Dean have to think of fire? He could pretty much say goodbye to a good night's sleep.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean said.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks. For you know. Everything an' all that.” He wasn't sure what 'everything' was, but Dean felt it needed to be said anyway.

“You are welcome. Goodnight, Dean. Sleep well."

“You too, Cas. See ya. Drive safe, okay?”

Cas smiled, the smile that had spread minutely across his face when they first parted. Watching him drive into the distance, Dean wondered if it would always end this way. Cas saving his life, then disappearing into the sunset. He immediately struck that thought from his head. Dean wanted to see him again, but would Cas want to see him again? Dean, the guilt-filled, worthless burden. Shaking his head bitterly, he went back up to his apartment and flopped down on his bed. For the first time since he could remember, he didn't hope that he wouldn't wake up, nor did he have any bad dreams either. He dreamt of the ocean, the waves a colour blue that he felt he should recognise.


	3. There's Something On The Way

After the calming bliss of a pleasant dream, Dean felt unnaturally serene for the morning. He disrupted his state of mind by twanging the strings of his guitar, the notes clashing with one another. Ahh, that was better. A little noise to block out the memories of last night. Well, the part where he thought about jumping off a bridge, not seeing Castiel again. Dean didn't really want to forget that. Cas seemed kind of awesome, and they were sort of friends now.

Dean pondered drinking the day away but decided that he would go into work. Who was he to deprive a building of his magnificent craft-work? Hopping in the shower, Dean made a mental note to call Sam. It was a good day. His brother wouldn't be able to tell that anything was less than normal. As he put on a pair of socks, something cold and hard snuggled under the arch of his foot. Pulling the sock off and shaking it about, the object fell onto the floor, and he realised what it was. _Ahh. Bus money._ A while ago, Dean had hidden spare change all around his apartment, so he would always come across it one way or the other, without having to keep it in a wallet. Dean didn't know why his past self had a vendetta against his wallet, he only remembered that he was drunk at the time.

Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he dialled Sam's number. Dean wasn't really sure what he was going to say, he just planned to wing it - ask how college was going, if he'd had much tail, that kind of thing.

“ _Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message.”_

Oh. Dean didn't foresee that his brother might not actually pick up.

“Uh, hi Sammy. Sorry – Sam. I know how much you hate bein' called that. Chubby twelve year old kid an' all. How's college? Good? Doin' your work? Gettin' laid? Just...call me back when you get this. It's been, what – I don't even _know_ how long it's been since we spoke, man. Okay. See ya.”

Suddenly feeling awkward, Dean's better mood faltered. _Who knew leavin' a message could drain so much outta you?_ He shoved his feet into his steel-toed shoes, and went to work.

* * *

“Hey, Winchester! Better late than never. Where you been, man? We needed you up here!” One of his colleagues. Dean had forgotten all of their names. After so many different builders came and went, all the faces and names blurred together, only certain features sticking out - the beer gut, the rough hands, the ass-crack on show and the dirty face. Dean didn't feel guilty about it. His apathy for most things didn't surprise him anymore; he'd given up caring years ago.

A dubious look was sent his way as he shrugged, “Sorry man, family crisis.” There were only so many times Dean could use that excuse, but again, he couldn't find it in himself to care. It was a fairly small site they were working on (Dean remembered that it was going to be a community centre of some sort) but they needed a pair of extra hands because the company had recently been paid a lot of money to finish it quickly. _What were the sponsors called again? High Skies? Something like that,_ Dean thought. He only took the time to try and recollect their name because upon learning that they sponsored the build, he had made the comment: “They got their fingers in _all_ the pies.” And they had. Big corporate company trying to appease ( _more like slowly buy out_ ) the smaller, more local companies. It had pissed Dean off at the time, because Sammy had been pissed about it. Sam had to do a big project on them last year, dig up the legal shtick and all that. He never found out what Sam got for that. He bet it was the best mark in the class, after all the hard work his little brother put in.

They were working on the roof today. The scaffolding had already been assembled and checked, so that was two things Dean could check off his list. He climbed the ladders to the top of the three storey building and looked back at the ground, leaning back from the rungs to check the grip of the gloves. It was high. Not as high as the bridge, but high enough that if he fell off, he would seriously injure himself, maybe even die, depending on the angle of the landing. Dean peered at the ground below again. Curious. He didn't fancy falling off. That was odd. Shrugging, he got to work. _It must have been the pizza last night,_ he thought. _It was damn good pizza_. _Nothin' like pizza to re-evaluate your life for ya!_ There were a couple of other guys up on the roof with him, as well as a few spots for when they had to do work that could potentially have them plunging to the dirt three stories down if they weren’t clipped on properly. Dean could hear some good-natured bantering going on between the men, and he found himself joining in. It was one of those rare days when he thought things were getting better.

As though the sun had been reading up on pathetic fallacy, it appeared from behind a cloud and temporarily blinded him. Instinctively putting his arm over his eyes, he lost his grip on the edge of the building, slipping off and just being caught by the luck of his leg tangling in two closely structured metal poles. He dangled there for a moment or two, suspended, wide eyed and panting heavily, cursing the mind that had somehow forgotten to attach any safety clips. It occurred to him that he didn't _want_ this. He didn't want to have just looked death in the face again. Dean was sure that Death was a perfectly nice guy, but he didn't want to meet him just yet.

And that freaked him the fuck out.

After thirty seconds of panic and noise, Dean was pulled up by his legs by two of the spots until he lay sprawled on the sun-warmed roof, the light being blocked out by builders peering at his state.

“Are you okay?” Dean answered with a dazed nod.

“Woah, man, that was a close call, you all good?” Another nod, not quite looking the asker in the eye.

“Dean, talk to us!” He got a slap around the face with that one.

“You're not sueing, right?” A frown and a shake of the head. It wasn't their fault.

“I'm not gonna sue.” That was the only thing Dean could say. It was the only question he actually had the answer to, because he was definitely _not_ okay.

_So much for pathetic fuckin' fallacy._

_This calls for a drink._

* * *

Castiel awoke to the sound of angry beeping. Eyes still shut, he let his hand wander the bed to find the source, and reaching under his pillow, he pulled out his phone. _That's not the ringtone..._ Castiel sleepily realised. He groaned and rubbed at his sockets with the heels of his palms. Groaning again, like one would do when woken early on a Sunday, he forced one blue eye open, letting it adjust to the the bright morning sunlight streaming in from behind his curtains. Glancing at his phone, Castiel found that it was the alarm. He had apparently neglected to disable it the night before, what with all that happened.

Swiftly turning it off, he turned on his side and attempted to return to his slumber, but the harder he tried to drift off the harder it became. Making an irritated noise in his throat, Castiel threw the covers off and got out of bed, walking out of his room and making a beeline for his coffee machine. While waiting for it to 'do its coffee thing', as his brother so articulately put it when he gifted it to Castiel, he thought on the night before and inwardly cringed when he remembered telling Dean not only about his breakdown, but his family too. Well, he only gave away a minute part of his relationship with his family, but he felt transparent at the time, as if Dean could tell he weren’t revealing the whole story. But he had to tell him something personal to get them on even footing vulnerability-wise, so then Dean would trust him enough to get on literal even footing with him. And he hadn't even planned it out in his head. Actually, he hadn't planned _any_ of his words before he opened his mouth. There was something about Dean that made him forget his nerves of saying the right thing, of coming across the right way.

Castiel hoped Dean was okay today. He wanted to stay and make sure, but it would have been...strange, to say the least. Castiel didn't really have friends, only the two siblings who spoke to him and a few acquaintances at work he was on good terms with. How would he even describe his and Dean's relationship? _Oh yes, this is Dean, I gripped him tight and pulled him from the brink of death twice, and he knows the secret I haven't burdened anyone with but him._ Was that a suitable description? But Dean had referred to them as friends only after their two meetings. Once again, Castiel was troubled with wanting Dean to call him again, but also not wanting him to call. It didn't occur to him that since Dean had already called that his number was in Castiel's phone. It was too early for thinking technologically, in Castiel's book.

He drank his coffee down in a big gulp, wiping at his mouth afterwards. Castiel held the empty mug in his hand and tapped the bottom of it on his other palm as he pondered upon what to do with his day. Maybe he should go into work today. Like he had said to Dean last night, he had been complacent during the week, and it needed to be rectified. But first, he would call his sister. Castiel hadn't spoken to her in a while. Leaving his mug on the side, he padded back into his room, picked up his phone, and dialled the number. Straight to voicemail.

“ _Hello. You have reached the number of” -_ His sister's giggling voice stated her name - “ _Anna! - Please leave a message after the tone.”_

“Hello, Anna. It's Castiel. Please ring me back as soon as you receive this; you know how I feel about leaving messages.”

The last time they had talked, they had stayed on the line for two hours. She spoke about getting away from their family again, leaving town, maybe even travelling. Anna had always been fascinated with journalism. Even though she was three years older than him, she was still living close to home, in their poisonous claws. Castiel pushed that metaphor from his mind. He _wouldn't_ think of his family like that. They were still good people, despite their differences and their abandonment of him. He sighed, and warmed up the shower.

Halfway through massaging shampoo through his hair, Castiel heard his phone go off again. It wasn't the alarm this time, someone was ringing him. He planned on leaving it. If someone really wanted to get ahold of him, they could leave a message or ring again. _But what if it's Anna – or Dean?_ The little voice in his head said, and Castiel's head snapped to the side, craning his neck to hear whether the tone was stopping. In doing this he got a blast of hot water to the face, which also let the shampoo run down into his eyes. Making pained grumbles he hurriedly rubbed at his eyes, blinking them open and squinting in temporary agony. It would do for now. The phone was still ringing. Castiel turned off the water and stumbled out of the shower in his en suite, only just grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. It would feel strange to answer a call naked, after all. Reaching for the phone under his sheets, he pressed the 'answer call' button, but it was too late. It had stopped. His shampoo-induced ailment had been for nothing.

As he ambled back into the en suite to continue his cleanse, the phone rang again, so an irritated Castiel half-jogged the few steps to where he put his phone down and waited the appropriate amount of rings before answering. It was a number he hadn't saved.

“Hello?” Castiel grouchily answered, his eyes screaming to be splashed with cold water.

“ _Mr Milton! Thank god. I didn't know what to do if you didn't pick up. I could have called security, but...”_

“Alfie?" he questioned with a frown. “What's wrong?”

“ _Well, I know it's a Sunday, and you shouldn't be in today because it's overtime and important work day etcetera, but you have a visitor, and he won't leave. He's just sitting in your office, I couldn't stop him, I'm sorry, but he says he knows you and he forgot your address, and -”_

Castiel held up a hand to stop his assistant from babbling, but realised that it was a useless gesture. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb instead, shutting his eyes and blowing air out through his nose. “Alfie. What is he doing in my office?”

There was a squeak as Alfie spun in his chair and bounced a little. “ _Not much, just sitting with his feet on your desk. And he's eating something.”_

“How did he get into the building? Did he have a pass?" he searched, curious as to who the supposed acquaintance was.

“ _Not that I can see, Mr Milton. When I asked him, he just winked at me, threw a lollipop on my desk and went into your office.”_

“But he's just sitting there and – wait, what? What did you say?”

“ _He winked at me and went into your office. Does the wink count as sexual harassment? Because we just got given a seminar on harassment in the workplace, and-”_

“No, not that, he threw a lollipop on your desk?” And then it dawned on Castiel. Eyes widening, then quickly narrowing, he gave an exasperated huff.

“ _Yes, Mr Milton. Should I eat it? Because I know I'm nineteen, but my mother said never to take candy from strangers. But at the same time, I didn't have breakfast this morning._ _So is it safe to eat?”_

“Alfie, it really is no concern of mine. But by all means, go ahead. It is most likely safe to eat. I know who he is. I'm on my way in.” Castiel hung up the phone, the dull pain in his eyes made worse by a sudden headache. This time, Castiel swore he was going to kill him.

* * *

Castiel all but stormed into his office, only sending a curt nod his assistant's way. He slammed open the door and stood in the frame for a few seconds, staring the so-called stranger down.

The man sitting in Castiel's chair grinned. “Hey, little bro!”

“Gabriel, get your feet _off_ of my desk. And _please_ refrain from eating in here,” Castiel coolly phrased.

“Aww, come on, Cassie!” His brother pouted, but Castiel didn't break the hard stare. Gabriel made a big show of rolling his eyes, sighing dramatically and setting his feet on the floor. “Still a buzzkill, then?”

“Apparently so.”

Gabriel stood up, walked around the desk to sit in the visitor's chair, and turned his head over his shoulder to look at Castiel. “Candy bar?" He produced the aforementioned either out of nowhere or from a secret pocket in his jacket.

“Where did you – never mind. No thank you.” Castiel pushed the distraction aside to investigate _why_ exactly his brother had turned up out of the blue. It had been a good two years since he had last seen Gabriel, when he had wanted to go out and get drunk with Castiel in tow. Something had happened beyond his regular break ups with Kali, but Castiel didn't ask about it. He had indulged his brother for a couple of hours before feeling trapped in whichever dingy dive he'd been taken to, and gone home, sans Gabriel. Shaking his head to expel the memories that suddenly seemed disconnected, he asked, “How did you get into the building without a pass?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, mock-affronted. “Well, it's nice to see you too.”

“Did you flirt your way in?” Castiel started chanting _'I am not affected'_ in his head like a mantra. The surprise appearance was fazing him in ways that he hadn't been fazed in a six months or so. Not even the incident at the train station had fazed him this much, and that realisation fazed him even _more._ Castiel ordered his mind to stop saying 'fazed' and went back to the mantra. Maybe if he kept repeating it, he would become less ruffled. And he loved his brother, he did, but unexpected visits from anyone made him anxious. If he had planned to spend the day alone with his thoughts, then that’s what he needed to do. Being dragged from his Sunday routine was disconcerting, even if it was only Gabriel.

“You know me!” Gabriel replied with a wink. “I'm kinda disappointed in your assistant, though. He didn't flirt back.”

Castiel huffed. The _last_ thing he needed was his brother flirting with Alfie. The boy was the best assistant he’d ever had, he didn’t want Alfie to quit because Gabriel liked to tease people, and he certainly didn't want Alfie to be in the same perturbed state he was in earlier ever again. “You are not gay, Gabriel.”

Gabriel's inane grinning at his brother's discomfort was overcome with a cry of, “Hey! I could be!”

There was a pause in which Gabriel grew restless and stood up to face Castiel. Although they were brothers, it was only by adoption, as were all the Milton children, save for Castiel who was the nephew of the others' adoptive mother. The few people who saw them together were always surprised to learn of their identical last name where they had no similar traits between them. Gabriel was short, with thin lips and golden brown eyes that matched his mane of hair, and Castiel was taller by at least four inches with piercing blue eyes, dark brown hair and full lips. Gabriel was a fun-loving, partying prankster, while Castiel was a stoic, repressed soldier boy.

Moving past his brother to his side of the desk, Castiel took a deep inhale, shuffling and correcting papers that Gabriel had dislodged. “What do you want?”

“Again, it's wonderful seein' you too. I missed you!” The smile was far too wide to be genuine.

Castiel was trying to be patient, he really was, but he didn’t appreciate the manner in which his brother blew in and scattered his day around, like the wind would leaves. “And I you. I get the feeling you're stalling.”

“Ahh, so you're finally getting people! I mean – what?” Gabriel pulled a blatantly fake face of incredulity, and gave a short peal of laughter. “I'm not stalling! I don't know what you're talkin' about, Cassie.”

It only took a flicker of Castiel's eyes to Gabriel's to get him to spill whatever he had been holding. He flopped back onto the visitor's chair, snatching the papers out of Castiel's hands. Upon his brother's annoyed glare, he set them down carefully on the desk.

Gabriel began in an earnest tone, the playfulness in his voice gone. “I can't get ahold of Anna.”

Regrouping the papers yet again, Castiel spared his brother a look he hoped was both reassuring and informative, if a look could be so. “I called her this morning. It went to her voicemail but I'm sure she'll ring back.”

“No, I mean I can't get ahold of her in _any_ way. Email, text, phone, postcard...well okay, maybe I haven't sent any postcards, but I haven't spoken to her in months.” Gabriel sighed dejectedly and successfully managed to look eight years old again as he leant his malleable cheek into the palm of his hand, squishing the side of his face.

Castiel drew his eyebrows together. “Months? I spoke to her only at the beginning of September.”

“Months, month and a half, it's all the same.” He removed his chin from his hand to wave dismissively. With concern pouring in his eyes like whiskey in a glass, he asked in a low voice, “Do you think she's okay?”

“Anna's thirty, Gabriel, she can look after herself.” Suddenly, Castiel didn't feel like he was just trying to convince his brother.

“I'm just saying. I've got a bad feeling, that's all.” As the anchor of Anna's silence sunk through him and settled in the pit of his stomach, he breathed a sigh of disquiet. Now that Gabriel mentioned negative feelings, Castiel _had_ been feeling a little uneasy, but he had just assigned it to the past week's events.

“The last time we talked, she wanted to travel. Perhaps that's where she is. Perhaps she needed to get away from all of us, not just the others.”

“Maybe...” Gabriel rubbed his chin, looking studiously out of the window behind Castiel.

Bored of his brother's stalling, albeit well intentioned, Castiel interrupted the gazing with a sharp snap. “Is there another reason you came here? Or did you travel halfway across the country just to break into my office?”

“Can I not come and see my little brother to see how he's doing?” Gabriel said, hurt. The flash of pain he saw in the golden eyes of his brother alerted him to the fact that while Gabriel had a habit of showing up out of the blue for selfish reasons, he also genuinely cared about him.

All the same, he answered, “No. Everyone has an ulterior motive in seeing me, even you. What is it now? I am not lending you money, no matter how promising the business plan seems.”

“Nah, nothin' like that.” Gabriel shook his head, a smirk forming on his face as he remembered the time wherein he got Cassie absolutely plastered for that precise reason. But as honesty faltered the smirk, he continued, “I just...I just wanted to see how you were doing. It's been a while, Cassie. How are things?”

Castiel glowered. “I appreciate the concern, Gabriel, but there is no need for it. I am still taking medication, though not as much, and I have not had an attack in six months. _Things_ are fine.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, something Castiel could only describe as his brother attempting to gaze into his soul. The 'big brother' look had worked when he was nine, but it no longer had any effect - not since Castiel had adopted and patented it. Now that he knew its secret, he was immune.

He huffed in irritation. “They're _fine_ , Gabriel. _I'm_ fine. Thank you for the concern, but it is unwarranted. Please, do not worry about me.”

“I'm just trying to be a good brother here.” Gabriel held up his hands in a surrender. "Anything you wanna talk about, I'm here.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Their eyes locked in a sincere stare, the silent signal that they cared about each other. The Milton family weren't big fans of vocal affection.

True to character, Gabriel flicked his hair and changed the subject, shifting the atmosphere and conversation to a comfortable one for the both of them.

“So, Kali broke up with me again.”

This wasn't a new topic that his brother broached. Castiel licked a thumb and turned a few pages in his open file, making sure that they were in the correct order. “My condolences.”

“I'm not the one you should be saying that to...” Gabriel replied out of the corner of his mouth.

Castiel's head snapped up. He didn't like that admission one ounce. The muttered words were laced with implication, and not the one that Kali was the party lamenting the separation. Noting that his stare was being avoided, he asked, “Would you care to elaborate on why my condolences are misplaced?”

“I...” Gabriel's words wavered under the harsh glare of his brother, and guilt threatened to pass his expression.

“ _Gabriel. Elaborate.”_

Castiel's heated exclamation of, “You did _what?_ ” was heard by Alfie, who started like a frightened foal. He rushed to the door and knocked hurriedly.

“Mr Milton? Is everything okay in there?” Alfie heard footsteps come closer to his position, and the door swung open, revealing a very...ruffled Castiel. His hair was puffed up, his usually calm eyes were glaring, and his mouth was an angry line.

“Everything is fine, thank you. Please ignore anything you may hear in the next ten minutes,” his boss growled.

“O-okay,” stuttered Alfie as the door was closed on his confused form. The next thing he heard was somewhat of a kerfuffle, and the man from earlier loudly stating, “Um, _ouch!”_

“Bro! What was that for?” Gabriel massaged his left cheekbone, making a pained face.

Castiel sat back down in his chair, recollecting himself and rubbing his knuckles. Taking a few deep breaths, he shut his eyes and concentrated on getting his rational senses back.

“Let me get this...correct,” he began, raising his ired eyes to sheepish ones. “You – no, Kali ended your relationship, and you thought that the only...that the _only_ way to win her back was to _fake_ your _death?_ ” Gabriel nodded, conflict both figuratively and literally showing on his face."That was cold, calculating, nauseatingly cruel, and not to mention outrageously illegal! So please, tell me again why you have no idea as to why I struck you.”

Gabriel halted the dramatic offended caressing of his cheek to protest, “It's not a _completely_ stupid idea! Some other guy faked his death and then proposed to his girlfriend! And she said yes! I saw an article about it. So don't tell me she's not gonna be at least a little happy to see me alive and kicking.”

In utter disbelief, Castiel ran a palm down his face. “Gabriel. I have met Kali. She will not be happy to see you alive. In fact, she will most likely rectify that.”

Instantly paling, Gabriel quietly remarked, “You got a point there, Cassie.”

Castiel wondered why his brother was the way he was, but he didn't have to dig deep to know. The need to be the centre of attention and to be unconditionally loved no matter the circumstances had stemmed from their childhood, when Gabriel was neither. If he were in a better place where he had not been dragged in on his day off with the embers of shampoo burning in his eyes, Castiel would have felt sympathy for him. Alas, he was not in a better place, and he had no patience for Gabriel's shenanigans.

“Say something?” Gabriel meekly requested as he started to feel more and more concerned about what was going on in Cassie's head. “I mean, something like, 'Here's how you surprise her with your alive-ness', or 'Run far far away to a land where she can never find you and skin you', or, 'No, Gabe, of course I don't hate you'?”

Castiel held up a hand to silence the ramblings of his brother. “Could you – I am not in the correct mood or headspace for this today. Please leave.”

“But Cassie-”

“I said _leave,_ brother.”

Gabriel was taken aback. Castiel only brought out the 'brother's when he was really mad. He looked at his younger brother, who was breathing shallowly, and wondered whether he had made the right decision in going to Castiel for advice when he himself had finally stopped needing it now that he was finally okay again. Or at least, when Castiel _said_ he was okay. He nodded.

“I'm sorry, Castiel.” With that, he turned on his heel, and left the office, barely sparing a glance for the people he had flirted with on his way in.

Castiel didn't watch his brother leave. He simply put his head in his hands, and tried not to think on what had just passed and how almost and not-quite deaths seemed to be the recurring theme of his life.

* * *

Castiel's head snapped up from where it had rested, which was his desk. He had fallen asleep on the open file he was organising earlier. Thankfully, he had not drooled over the papers. Castiel heard a faint buzzing and recognised it as his phone; it had never been so active in the last few weeks as it had been these past couple of days. Reaching into his overcoat pocket, he answered it.

“Hello?" he muttered groggily.

A familiar voice slurred, “ _Aww, did I wake ya? It's like...I don't know, only...what, three in the afternoon?”_

Castiel woke up then. “Dean?”

“ _Yeah, it's me!”_ He was so obnoxiously loud that Castiel had to pull the phone away from his ear, wincing.

Concerned, he asked, “Are you alright?” After all, Dean was calling him again, which was never a good sign of his wellbeing.

Castiel heard a throaty laugh on the other side of the call. “ _I'm not gonna kill myself, if that's what you're askin'.”_

“That's...good?”

There was a pause in which he heard Dean take a swig of something, splutter, and sniff. “ _Hey, Cas?”_ Dean started in a raspy voice.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wasn't sure if it was because he was still a little hazy in the head from his impromptu nap, but Dean sounded like he was -

“ _I'm drunk!”_

Oh. Sad, Castiel could deal with, but he'd never really been in the company of drunkards. Well, he had when his brothers came home tipsy from parties, but they had sloppily shushed him and made their own way to their rooms. Balthazar would usually get drunk, but if they were at a party together then he would be mingling with his other friends, leaving Castiel to hover on the edge of the room, or if he had refused to leave the apartment for a party, then he wouldn’t have to deal with Balthazar anyway because he would fall straight to sleep in their bed, sprawled like a starfish and leaving Castiel with no space.

Trying to fix himself in the present and Dean’s drunkenness instead of in the past and with his ex’s, Castiel shook his head slightly and asked,“I see. Dean, pardon me for asking, but why did you call me?”

“ _Aw Cas, don't be like that!”_ Dean whined into the receiver. _“I just wanted to talk t' ya! Don't be mean.”_

Castiel mentally chastised himself as a surge of confusion coursed through him. “I wasn't aware I was being...mean. I apologise.”

“ _No need, man.”_ Weariness overcame the pouting lilt, and a contagious yawn passed down the line, one that Castiel had to stifle as he checked his watch. It really was 3pm. Why was Dean drunk at this time?

“Dean, where are you? Are you at your home?”

“ _Yeahh._ ” Dean gulped down what Castiel could only assume was another drink. “ _''M on my couch. Kinda wanna sleep now,”_ Dean drowsily mumbled.

“Don't go to sleep.” Castiel was worried that if Dean nodded off, he might swallow his tongue, or something equally awful that was drink-induced. “I want you to stop drinking, and wait for me. I'm going to come over.”

“ _Cool. Make sure you're dressed properly.”_ Dean laughed again. Castiel imagined that Dean's laugh could be a wonderful thing, if it weren't marred by drink and depression.

* * *

Castiel drove round to Dean's as fast as he could, rubbing the sleep and blurriness out of his eyes throughout the whole journey. He was glad that the roads were practically empty so no one could see his bad driving. Castiel had remembered Dean's address for future reference and parked up, hoping that the front door was open. He waltzed as naturally as he could towards it, praying that he wouldn't have to break in as Dean was in no state to come down the stairs and let him in. Pushing lightly on the doorknob, it creaked open, and Castiel sent a 'thank you' to the heavens. Hoping that he remembered the right apartment, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the door that should lead to a drunk Dean.

No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. “Dean?” No sounds of movement. Castiel hoped that Dean had only fallen asleep, and that nothing worse had befallen him. Frantically searching for a place that a spare key might be, his hands wandered the top of the light next to the door, under the doormat, when he finally found it on the top of the door frame. Turning the key in the lock, Castiel let himself in and immediately strode over to the couch. Dean was slumped on it, still breathing ( _Thank God_ ) with an empty glass in his hand. Castiel moved round so he was opposite the sleeping man, back slightly bent. He gently shook Dean by the shoulders.

“Dean,” he uttered. “ _Dean._ ”

Dean's eyes flew open. A lazy smile spread across his face, and a tinge of green soon followed it, causing Dean's face to fall and contort into nausea. He pushed Castiel out of the way, clumsily rushing to what Castiel presumed was the bathroom. The sound of vomit hitting the toilet bowl was less than to be desired. Not knowing entirely what to do in this situation, he followed where Dean went and saw the man kneeling over the toilet, now dry heaving. Castiel knelt down with him, gently rubbing his back. He'd heard that was the best thing to do. Dean expelled a few more bouts of his guts, and when he had finished, he carried on retching and shaking.

Castiel got up to get Dean a glass of water, but Dean whimpered and clutched onto him. Gently removing Dean's hands from his legs, he moved to the kitchenette, searching the cupboards for a clean glass to fill. Ignoring the slight cloud of the tap water, he turned the corner back into the bathroom, where Dean was curled around the base of the toilet.

“Cas?" he moaned. Castiel knelt down again, sitting Dean up straight. “I thought you left.”

Castiel was temporarily horrified that Dean genuinely thought he would leave upon discovering him like this. “Of course not. I got you water.”

He held the glass up to Dean's mouth and made him swallow. As soon as Dean grabbed the glass and drank it without assistance, Castiel retrieved the flannel on the side of the wash-basin, wetting it and wiping it over Dean's sweaty brow. Dean grabbed that as well, wiped his mouth on it, and threw it aside. Patiently, Castiel picked it up, dampened it again, and stroked it over Dean's forehead. He resisted the sudden urge to run his hands through Dean's hair.

Moving so he was next to Dean, he crossed his legs and leant against the tiles behind him. It was cold and uncomfortable but it didn't seem to matter to Dean, who had buried his face in Castiel's collar bone. Sighing, he realised that Dean seemed like the kind of man who craved human contact, but didn't want to admit it to himself. Castiel brought his hand up to the back of Dean's head, lightly teasing the hair, and Dean made a contented noise and rubbed his cheek on Castiel's shoulder.

Remembering the state of the toilet, Castiel removed his hand from Dean's hair and reached to push the lever that flushed the fetid contents of the bowl. Dean jumped at the sudden gurgling noise, so Castiel quickly replaced his hand, stroking Dean's hair again.

“Y'r a cool guy, Cas- Casti- Cassi- ugh,” Dean slurred. “Imma jus' call you Cas, like I did on th' bridge. Y'liked that, di'n't ya?" He punctuated the end with a hiccup.

Castiel smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“'M sorry,” he mumbled.

“It's okay, Dean.”

“Nah, y'shouldn't have'ta look after me. 'M a let down. You shoulda jus' left me, I woulda died and I woulda been fine.”

Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, starting to interrupt, but Dean cumbersomely brought a couple of fingers to Castiel's mouth, effectively shutting him up.

“Lemme finish. I woulda been fine, an' I wouldn't've bothered anyone any more. But then you...” - he stabbed a pointed finger in Castiel's chest - “ _you_ came along, all save-y people an' all that, an' you tol' me to call you, an' I did. You were just... _there,_ talkin' about your crazy days, and – I don't care that you were crazy, or still are, or whatever. Ya seem fine to me, Cas. And even though you seem t'think that I'm worth somethin'...I like you. Even though you're wrong. I'm not worth anything. I've never done anythin' right. I can't even do my job right, man. I fell off a roof today.”

Sitting up straight as a ramrod, Castiel exclaimed, “Dean – you what? Are you all right?” His eyes quickly surveyed for any damage, but the only damage Dean was currently sporting was in his liver.

“Shh, shh...'m fine. I'm here, aren't I? But when I was drinkin', I jus' thought how you would be really disappointed in me if I died. I thought that you would think it was on purpose. But I swear, man – It wasn't! I didn't even wanna die! Tha's fuckin' weird, man...I di'n't wanna let you down, like I let everyone else down. 'M sorry, Cas, I'm sorry, I really am.” Dean buried his face further into Castiel, wiping away a few stray tears that had betrayed him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Castiel slid his hand round so it cupped his head, the other joining it on the opposite side. He brought Dean's face up so he could look at him properly, sincerely. “You are worth something.” He looked into Dean's eyes, not knowing entirely what he was searching for in them. Castiel brushed away a tear with his thumb, still trying to find his way out of the depths of Dean's eyes. It was like gazing at the sunlight peeking through a canopy of evergreen trees; mesmerising, quiet and beautiful.

Dean shook his head, breaking the eye contact. Castiel stood, bringing Dean up with him, supporting the shaky frame with an arm.

“Dean,” Castiel softly started as he adjusted to the clumsy weight at his side, “I'm going to put you to bed now. You need to rest.”

“Caaas,” he whined half-heartedly. “It's too early! An' I haven't brushed my teeth.” Dean pouted like a six year old who had been refused his favourite toy. Castiel almost laughed at him, but settled for a wry smile. The whole idea of laughing was still very strange to him. Brushing aside the fingers that were on their way to grasping at his mouth for some reason, he shut the lid of the toilet seat and sat Dean down on it.

“This is the _only_ time I'm doing this for you, do you understand?” Dean nodded, obviously not knowing what Castiel was getting at. Castiel squeezed a pea-sized amount of toothpaste onto Dean's toothbrush, and pulled his chin down so he could access Dean's mouth better. This probably – no, _definitely_ looked ridiculous, a man brushing another man's teeth, but Castiel didn't care. All he knew was that Dean needed looking after, and that he was the man for the job.

The water and the toothpaste had slightly lessened the smell of vomit, but Castiel could still smell it on Dean's breath as he protested the cleaning.

“You wanted your teeth brushed, Dean, now stop complaining,” Castiel half-heartedly scolded.

Dean made a noise of resignation and patiently waited for Castiel to finish. Upon Castiel's command, Dean leant over the the sink next to him and spat. He wiped his mouth on the wet flannel again, ridding his mouth of the taste of mint mixed with puke.

Leading Dean out of the bathroom and into the room that was hopefully his bedroom, Castiel ignored Dean's incoherent grumbles. As soon as the door to the bedroom was opened, Dean fell onto his bed, wriggling out of his shirt, which had a little dried vomit on it. Castiel averted his eyes, again, not quite knowing what to do. He heard the sound of Dean's jeans being shucked off, and suddenly Dean was just in his boxers, pulling the duvet over himself. He closed his eyes, and his hand shot out, grasping nothing but thin air.

“Cas?” Castiel came closer, letting Dean's hand find the loose material of his pant leg around the back of the knee. “You're an angel.”

Castiel removed Dean's hand and decided to take the compliment. Making sure that Dean's legs weren't in the way, he sat down on the side of the bed. “Thank you,” he awkwardly managed. He'd never been called an angel in his life. Castiel had always thought that his sister was the angel of the family, even if they were all named after them.

“Mom always said there were angels watchin' over me...maybe she was right,” Dean murmured. His hand roamed around again, finding Castiel's sleeve and wandering down to meet Castiel's hand. Their fingers interlocked. Castiel stared at the other man with a mix of confusion and fondness, watching Dean as his breaths became deeper and more even til at last, Dean was at rest. He stayed holding his hand for a while until he was sure that Dean was okay. Or that he was okay. Castiel wasn't sure who this...friendshipbenefited more. Erasing that thought from his mind, he quietly moved out of the bedroom, weighing up his choices. Should he go home? Castiel thought of the relief on Dean's face when he realised that Cas had not left him. Would it be weird if Castiel stayed? What if Dean woke up in the night, and Castiel wasn't there? Would he hurt himself? Would he drink more?

It was decided. Castiel would stay on the couch, with the TV on low. If Dean needed him, he would be right there. It wasn't creepy, it was just the kind of friendship they had. Strangely codependent, considering how long they'd known each other.

Castiel flicked through channels like he had seen Dean do last night. He settled on a program about wildlife, narrated by what sounded like an old British man. Keeping the volume down so to not wake Dean, he watched it until he heard whimpering sounds from Dean's room. It had only been an hour or so that he had been completely restful, and Castiel was suddenly saddened to realise that. Not only was living a chore for Dean, but so was sleeping. Walking into the bedroom, he saw that Dean was restless, tossing and turning in a cold sweat. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, he stroked Dean's hair, shushing him and placing the covers back over him. Dean was babbling, there were a lot of “No”s, and among a stream of nonsense, Castiel could only really make out “Mom,” “Sammy,” and “Fire,”. He turned Dean on his side, rubbing his back in little circles and shushing him again. Eventually, Dean's keening stopped, and he caught his breath.

In the corner of the room, there was a chair. Castiel pulled it up to the side of the bed, planning to watch over Dean and be certain that he slept well. He fell asleep like that, eventually slumping forward so that his head fell atop of his folded arms on the bed.


	4. Your Tomorrow's Not The Same As Today

_There is aspirin and a glass of water on your bedside table. Call me if you need me._

_Castiel._

Dean found the note on his pillow after crumpling it with his cheek. The crackle of the paper had alerted his senses, dragging him from his slumber. He had the worst hangover, and only vaguely remembered yesterday. He definitely recalled burying his face in Castiel's neck because the smell of sugar, warm freshly printed paper, and cinnamon had comforted him and soothed his cramping stomach. Dean found that mix more intoxicating than the entire bottle of whiskey and pack of beer he had downed that afternoon. His eyes felt weird, the skin around them tight. Oh god, had he cried? Dean felt mortified at the thought of crying before Cas, wondering why the man bothered at all with him. But they had held hands. The feeling of Cas's smooth fingers against his own calloused ones was difficult to forget. What did it mean?

Dean groaned. He was turning into a fourteen year old girl. Next, he'd be getting a myface and twitting 'Dean <3 Cas, six days today :3' with some shitty pop lyric as his status or whatever. Jeez. It had only been six days. That wasn't even a week. And they'd only met on three occasions. Grabbing the aspirin, he gulped two pills down with the water Castiel had set out for him.

Castiel. He had had problems pronouncing that name in his drunken state. But here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed where Castiel had been, trying the name on his tongue. The bed was still warm, and Dean half-hoped that it was from Cas.

 _When did I turn so gay?_ he asked himself. Dean was sure that he was latching onto Cas because he had had next to no action in the last few years. He had tried, oh how he had _tried_ to sleep with women; he had run his hands up their bodies, cupped their breasts, and kissed their soft skin, but his dick would not co-operate, no matter what. Sure, he still beat off to 'Busty Asian Beauties' every so often, but truth be told, magazines didn't really do anything for him anymore, Dr Sexy's appeal was starting to wane and he just wanted to be held, a side of him had obviously surfaced yesterday. God, he was an idiot. He'd known Cas for six freakin' days, and he held his hand and gazed into his eyes like it was a goddamn romance novel.

But Cas did have nice eyes. They were like...fuck, Dean didn't know. They were _blue,_ he didn't need to compare them to the sky or shit like that. 'Cause they were a darker shade than the sky. And Dean was straight. Probably. He didn't count the guys he'd kissed when he was a teenager, because hey, everyone experiments, right? But for some reason, no matter what Dean did that morning, he couldn't shake the colour off his mind. There was only one thing for it. He'd have to describe them.

The manliest, Dean-est way he could describe Cas's eyes was thought of after several minutes of casting his eyes around his apartment, looking for blues he could match them with. Then he caught sight of one of his DVDs. _Finally._ Castiel's eyes were the same blue that outlined the laser glow of Luke Skywalker's lightsaber. Yeah, that was it. Dean felt better now that he had associated Cas's eyes with something in his comfort zone. He wondered if Castiel had ever seen Star Wars. Probably not, going by the sheer wonder on the guy's face when they watched the TV, and Tron. And Star Wars had better special effects than Tron. Dean would definitely have to sit him down so they could watch it. He'd start with A New Hope, and go from there. Maybe they'd watch the prequels, if Castiel liked it. But Cas'd have to sit through a rant on The Phantom Menace throughout if they watched it, because Dean had a _lot_ of opinions about it, along with some points he'd stolen from a fan forum that he totally never ever frequented.

Dean was actually quite surprised. He remembered it being around 3pm when he called Castiel, and he probably fell asleep an hour later, marking his sleep at sixteen hours or so. Dean hadn't slept that long in...well, he couldn't recall when he slept that well. Maybe in his hurricane of a brain, Cas was the eye of the storm, which only meant that when Castiel eventually gave up on him (which he would), that Dean would be lost again, wandering the wake.

Fuck. It had only been six days. He needed to stop needing Castiel. It was like finding a stray - once you gave it a name, you couldn't resist keeping it and loving it. Dean was completely done for from the moment he nicknamed him 'Cas'. Dean mentally made a note to never call him again, no matter how dark the days were getting. He would make it through this...whatever he was going through alone, like he had all this time. Dean wouldn't burden Cas - _Castiel_ with his shitty problems. A lot of people had it worse. There were kids starving in Africa, for God's sake.

Dean tried not to think of how his heart sank when he thought of never seeing Castiel again. It was one of the first things he remembered feeling with his whole being in a while.

_It's been six days. You're straight. You don't know him. You're a burden. He's better off without you. Better off without you and the stupid shitty problems you have. Don't dump that on him._

His self-loathing reverie was broken by the sound of his phone ringing. Dean didn't want to answer it. He had made the mistake of thinking too much and drinking everything yesterday. Checking the caller ID to see who he was avoiding, he saw that it was his brother. Dean couldn't ignore this, he wouldn't, not in a million years. He'd never ignore little Sammy.

“Sam?” Dean was pretty sure that his smile could be heard through the phone.

“ _Hey, Dean. I got your message.”_

Straight to the point, that was his brother. No time for pleasantries, not anymore. Not since Sam was nine and _wanted_ to know that Dean was okay, anyway. “Yeah? So how's it goin'?”

“ _It's fine, I guess.”_ Sam sounded off; he was sighing more than usual, but they’d probably get round to it later.

“Good, good...” Remembering the stray thought he'd had a while back, he asked, “Hey, Sam, what did you get on that paper you did on that company? What were they called...High Skies or somethin'?”

Dean bet Sam wrinkled his nose before he said, “ _Higher Planes. Why?”_

“Jus' wondered.”

“ _Yeah, I got one of the best marks in the class.”_

Beaming with pride, Dean chuffed a pleased, “That's ma boy!” as his heart swelled. Sam snorted, and Dean could virtually see the weird down-turned smile of his little brother. Man, he missed that smile. “So what else is new? Getting' laid like crazy, I bet.”

“ _Dean!”_ Sam protested.

“Come on, you're a _Winchester,_ you got no hope of _not_ getting' laid,” _Unless you're me,_ Dean silently added, his grin turning into a grimace.

“ _I have a girlfriend, actually. Her name's Jess.”_

The grimace switched to a naughty smirk and sauciness laced Dean's suggestive tone. “She hot?”

“ _Yeah...”_ Again, Dean could see Sam's expression through the phone. He bet on everything he had that Sam was wearing a goofy, dreamy grin, until Sam sighed again, and changed the subject.

“ _Look, Dean, there was a reason that I called.”_

Bracing himself, he tried to nonchalantly ask, “And that reason is...?”

“ _I think you should see Dad.”_ Dean froze.

“No.”

“ _But Dean-”_

“I said _no,_ dammit!”

“ _He got in an accident.”._

Dean's breath caught in his throat. “An accident?”

“ _Yeah. A truck went in the side of him. Guy fell asleep at the wheel.”_ Sam's words were so mechanical, so without emotion that it almost made Dean question the integrity of his little brother's soul.

He ran a hand over his face, hoping it would give him the same effects of splashing it with cold water, and searchingly stumbled in a strangled voice, “Is he...is he okay?”

“ _Oh, yeah, he's fine now. But I think it made him re-evaluate things. I mean, I gave the mechanics the go ahead to put an iPod jack in the Impala and he didn't kill me. I think he wants to make things right, make amends.”_

Dean was silent and caught between fast-blinking and staring blankly ahead, only able to register a few of the things his brother was telling him. “You told them to put an _iPod jack_ in the Impala? What are you, an idiot?”

“ _That's what Dad said,”_ Sam mused. “ _But that's not the point. The point is, is that Dad-”_

“I don't care what the damn point is, Sam. I don't wanna know. He could have re-thought his life _years_ ago, and maybe I woulda cared. But it's too late. Anything he has to say, I don't wanna hear it. Okay?”

“ _Just...”_ Sam sighed. He was probably making a bitchface, like the little bitch he was. “ _Just think about it, okay? I just want my Dad and my brother to get along. I want to be a family again.”_

“Oh, like you were so keen on being a family when you ran off to college,” Dean spat. “You left me behind, with _him,_ and you didn't even give any warning! You just up and left, Sam. You weren't there to see what happened afterwards. Dad, he –“ Dean stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose before he got too caught up in the past. “Look. Fine. I'll think about it.”

“ _No you won't,”_ came Sam's flat, defeated reply.

“No, I won't.”

Sam hung up on him, leaving Dean feeling more empty than he did before.

* * *

 “ _Hello. You have reached the voicemail of '_ Anna!'. _Please leave a message after the tone.”_

Castiel sighed, before speaking into the receiver. “Anna, please answer your phone. Gabriel broke into my office just to see if I had heard from you. So please, let him know how you are. He's worried.” And frankly, Castiel was a little worried too. He tried not to be concerned with her lack of communication, but he enjoyed talking to his sister. She understood him.

He was roused from his perturb when the door to Castiel's office swung open without so much of a knock, and Alfie's voice floated through the quickly widening crack, the most petulant it had ever sounded. “Excuse me, you can't go in unless you -”

“Castiel, darling!” He looked up, prompted by the familiar English accent. A man in a dark suit swaggered in, the perpetual smirk widening into a genuine smile.

Alfie rushed in behind, a little breathless. “I'm sorry, Mr Milton! He just barged through, he wouldn't listen to me!”

“It's fine, Alfie,” Castiel waved off, his lips caught between a surprised smile and a firm line of confusion. “There is no need for concern. Please, go back to your work.”

“Yes, _Alfie,_ go back to your work,” the man smirked.

With a harsh look, Castiel reprimanded his friend. “Balthazar! Behave. Alfie is paid to keep this my schedule  and this entire section in order, not to take impudence from strangers.” He gave his assistant a reassuring half-smile from behind his desk, his eyes soft, and Alfie looked relieved. He probably thought he was going to be fired soon, with the amount of unexpected guests Castiel was having. Poor boy. He'd buy him a pastry of some sort, just to let Alfie know that he was doing a good job. Or maybe some of the street food Castiel was so fond of. Not from Weiner Hut though; they had been Alfie's previous employers, and apparently, he had spent so much time in the kitchen that Alfie would 'puke if he ever so much as saw a hot dog again'.

Castiel stood up to greet the man, closing the gap between them to shake his hand. “Balthazar, it's been too lo-” Balthazar took his hand and pulled him into a hug, slapping him on the back several times.

“I was going to say that it had been too long.” The words were beat out unevenly by the slaps, voice strained from the force of the friendly embrace.

Balthazar pulled away, but kept ahold of Castiel's shoulders. “It really has been, hasn't it? I see you're still wearing that damn trenchcoat everywhere.”

“Technically, it's an overcoat. And I could say the same thing about your shirt.” Castiel had never seen Balthazar wear anything of his own free will that didn't include the same grey, low v-necked t-shirt. Castiel betted on the fact that his friend bought them in bulk.

He'd met Balthazar at the Garrison Clinic, nine years ago. Besides a nurse who seemed to have a soft spot for him, Balthazar was his only friend. Castiel's therapist had initially disapproved of the two's relationship, what with the eleven year age-gap, and because of Balthazar's history with other patients. Apparently he was a huge flirt, and it unsettled the rest of them, but his therapist had eventually allowed it as it saw a marked improvement in Castiel's behaviour.

In all his eighteen years, Castiel had never acted upon his urges for men. He had repressed it, for the sake of his family, and that was part of why he ended up at Garrison. Then, Castiel met Balthazar. Balthazar, who was twenty nine, tall, bright blond and handsome; who treated him like an adult. When he had asked the clichéd question of what brought Balthazar to the clinic, he had simply replied:

“They decided I was too narcissistic for my own good.”

The snark in the man's voice on top of the English accent intrigued Castiel, and they had been fast friends from there. They spent all their recreation time together, and ended up being separated in group therapy sessions because Balthazar was always more likely to joke around when Castiel was there. Privately, Balthazar had listened patiently to his issues with his family and his sexuality, and when Castiel expected to see disgust in his friend's eyes, he only saw fondness and acceptance. Balthazar had kissed him then, and he felt free. Free from the weight of his family and their problems, and free from the person he had tried to be for them.

But after Castiel's insurance started to run out, and he decided that he was as fine as he was ever going to be, he left the clinic. He still visited Balthazar, but it wasn't the same. Balthazar was different. Castiel wondered if he felt betrayed. He was eventually asked (politely, by the nice nurse) to stop visiting. Apparently Balthazar's condition had gotten worse. Castiel realised that he never really knew what it was.

Even after they gave a proper relationship a go when Castiel was twenty two, three years later, it hadn't lasted long. But they parted as good friends, only seeing each other a few times since.

Balthazar's eyes twinkled, as though he were recalling the past too. He patted Castiel on the shoulder once more, and then playfully tapped his ass before taking a seat, crossing his legs far too elegantly for a man. Castiel always liked that about his friend. Balthazar could be a crass devil one moment, and a perfect gentleman the next.

He steepled his fingers and a wistful glaze came over his eyes as he said in an exhale, “You know, I was thinking about you the other day, Cassie. I walked by Levi's, and it reminded me of something you once said.”

“Oh?” Balthazar was the only person who could call him 'Cassie' other than Gabriel, and while it irked him with his brother, it sounded affectionate in Balthazar's mouth.

“Yes. You once said that my eyes were like faded, worn denim, and although you'd never taken to wearing jeans, you found them comforting.”

Castiel cast his own eyes down, slightly embarrassed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he remembered when it had happened. They had been sauntering through the town, finally holding hands after days of pestering Balthazar about his willingness for just the smallest displays of affection, when Castiel had seen a pair of jeans in a thrift shop: the material a shade of blue that he recognised. He pointed them out to Balthazar, who gave him a small smile and went in the shop to try them on. In the changing room, they had fit perfectly, and when Balthazar called him in to check them out, Castiel couldn't resist. He knelt down right there, in the cramped space with mirrors surrounding them, and unzipped the jeans. Looking into his lover's eyes, Castiel gave him a blow job that was ‘beyond comparison’, according to the receiver.  When they bought the jeans, the cashier gave them a dirty look, but they didn't care. They went home, and made love.

Balthazar's smooth, cut-glass voice sliced through the memory. “I often think that your depiction of them was a metaphor for our relationship.”

“Yes, perhaps.” Castiel started to feel uneasy. Where was Balthazar going with this?

“Cassie,” Balthazar said, breaking through the tension, “I've decided to go back to England.”

“Why?” frowned Castiel.

“There's nothing for me here anymore, in America.”

Had Balthazar been hoping for a romantic reunion between them? Had he been waiting around, in case circumstances changed and feelings started to be felt again?

“But – your job, your home,” he frowned still, his mind incapable of comprehension. “What will you do?”

“Oh, sell the house,” Balthazar dismissed with a wave of his hand. “And as for the job...well. I've been offered one selling antiques to the wealthy elderly. It's a passion I've hidden carefully. The love of antiques, of course, not the wealthy elderly.”

Castiel tried to smile. “When do you leave?”

“In a week or so.”

“That soon?” His eyes widened, making him look twenty years younger, and he felt like a boy whose best friend was transferring schools.

“I'm afraid, so, darling. So what do you say - drinks, tonight? I heard chatter on my way in, apparently it's someone's birthday. We can join them!”

Castiel would have preferred to go out with Balthazar alone, just the two of them, but perhaps having people around them would be best. He didn't want to do anything stupid, like stroke his sweat-soaked hair after he'd thrown up or hold his hand and quiet the shaky sobs that overcame his weakened body. Yes, then they wouldn't be tempted to ruin the friendship they had now. So he agreed, and they talked in between Castiel's various phone calls. Balthazar even made him laugh in the middle of a few. He would miss this kind of thing.

Balthazar nearing departure was just more proof that everyone left.

* * *

It turned out to be Meg Masters's birthday drinks, a spunky brunette who always flirted with Castiel. And while there had been a drunken kiss at a Christmas party a while back, nothing more had happened between them but the back and forth subtle dalliance. Come to think of it, it was the Christmas after he and Balthazar broke up.

All the people there were workers from his floor, so Castiel was familiar with them all and even knew some of their lunch orders. Mostly, he just observed them, absorbed in their conversations. There were too many of them to try and talk to them all individually or join in any group chatter, and his mind wouldn't generate anything to say, and he was sure that everyone would think less of him, respect him less because he couldn’t talk to them. Maybe they would think that he thought he was too good for them, and that he wouldn’t lower himself to their convivial banter. Castiel hoped for none of those things. However, he was amused at how quickly they had taken to Balthazar, but Castiel wasn't surprised. His friend was a highly charismatic and charming man, and people seemed to flock to his accent and ever-showing chest.

When suggested that it was Castiel's round, he good-naturedly agreed, glad of an out, and went up to the bar to order. Looking up and down the length of the bar, he spotted the bartender. Well, he heard her before he saw her.

“No. You're not havin' another one. Just like your daddy...”

The slumped pile of clothes, presumably containing a man, mumbled, and the woman rolled her eyes. Castiel supposed she must be used to this kind of thing. “I'll say you're like him if you're actin' like him, boy! I barred him, I can bar you too, sweetheart, so stop droolin' on my beer mats and _go home_.”

More mumbling, this time with added whining.

“You've been here for hours, I'm surprised your liver hasn't given out.” Then, in a softer voice, she said, “Honey, we're worried about you, both me an' Jo. She sees you out walkin' half-drunk when she's shuttin' up at the coffee shop, always says how miserable you look. When you're not workin' or wallowin' or whatever it is that you do when you're on your own, you're here. You don't wanna drink yourself outta everythin' you got, do ya?”

The man rubbed his face into the wooden surface, mimicking a shake of the head.

“Didn't think so. Dean Winchester, you'll be the death of me.” She sashayed away, shouting at a guy named Ash to stop sleeping on the pool table during open hours. At the mention of the man's name (Dean Winchester's, not Ash's), Castiel's head snapped up where it had only been inclined to their conversation before.

“Dean?”

Dean pushed himself up from his makeshift pillow of his arms and the bar, making it look like it took a great effort, and judging by the sight of him, it did. “Caaaasti – Casss – el?”

Castiel moved toward him, propping him up. “You are still having issues pronouncing my full name while intoxicated, I see. Dean, I know I haven't known you for very long, but I think you have a problem.”

Looking up into Castiel's sincere eyes, Dean laughed. “I don't have...problem. 'M fine!”

“You don't look fine to me,” he stated, narrowing his eyes.

“An' I can't call you 'Cas' anyway,” Dean slurred. “'S'like this...you're a stray, so...I can't keep it...y'know?”

Ignoring Dean's nonsensical babble, Castiel nodded, and the bartender returned with a cloth to wipe the counter with.

“Thanks, sweetheart. He can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Now, just hold him there while I wipe here...” She passed the cloth over where Dean's face had been. “There we go. What can I-”

“Ellen!” Dean suddenly exclaimed in a yell, a lazy, drunken smile lighting up his face.

“What now, Dean?” Ellen exasperatedly asked.

“He's got” - he hiccuped - “lightsaber eyes...”

Ellen and Castiel both eyed Dean with confusion. Turning back to her customer with a smile, Ellen repeated her last question. “What can I get'cha?”

Castiel recited his table's order before heaving Dean off of the stool and half-carrying him to his car outside. Balthazar gave him a questioning glance while he was doing this, so he raised his voice over the hubbub of the bar, near shouting, “I'll explain in a moment.” However, Balthazar followed him outside, leaning against the brick wall of the bar exterior as he watched his friend strap Dean in the passenger's side of the car.

“Cassie, I didn't think you did drunken pick ups,” he lightly remarked with a raise of his eyebrow.

“He's” - Castiel grunted as Dean resisted the seatbelt - “a friend. And I need to make sure that he is safe.”

“Well, I hope the both of you are _safe_ tonight.”

“Balthazar. I know. This is not how I planned this evening either, but look at him.” They both stared at Dean, mirroring each other's poses with their hands on their hips. “He is in no state to look after himself.”

Balthazar sighed dramatically. “ _Fine._ I'll let you off. He is quite handsome, you know, apart from the lovely string of spit he had hanging from his mouth.”

There was a pause between the two in which Balthazar put his hands in his pockets, glancing to the source of the muted chatter, the only noise of the night bar Castiel's shuffling feet and Dean's inebriated mumblings. Knowing that all silences had to be broken, Castiel looked up at his friend through his eyelashes, his voice low and tentative as he asked, “Will I see you again before you leave?”

“Probably not,” Balthazar shrugged, only meeting Castiel's eyes for the shortest of moments.

Castiel swallowed. “I'll – It won't be the same. Not having you in the same country.”

“I know. I'll miss you too, Cassie.” He was pulled into another hug, this one more tender than the one they shared earlier.

Balthazar waved, his face indecipherable as Castiel drove away.

* * *

 “Come on, Dean.” Castiel hauled his inebriated friend out of his car. He'd taken him to his own apartment, sure that he could look after him properly there. If Dean got this drunk two days in a row, then Castiel would do everything he could to ascertain that Dean couldn't possibly make it a hatrick.

“Are you liftin' me up witthe force?”

Again, Castiel had no idea what Dean was referencing. It would be best just to agree, he didn't want to upset Dean in any way. “Yes, Dean, yes I am.” He swiped the key card on the electronic lock, and led them to the elevator.

Gazing around at his surroundings, Dean exclaimed, “You got a workin' elevator....tha's cool!”

Castiel grabbed Dean's hand just as he was about to slide it down the panel of numbers. “Please, Cas? Lemme press the buttons?" he begged, batting his eyelashes.

Castiel shot him down with a stern look and a firm, “No.”

“Buzzkill,” Dean pouted.

“So people keep telling me.”

Castiel still had a hold of Dean's hand, who was making no effort to remove his own. He flopped onto Castiel, making it even more difficult to move him around. They stayed like that, Dean draped over him with his octopus-like limbs until the elevator dinged, alerting them to Castiel's floor. Thankfully, he was stronger than he looked, and Castiel manoeuvred Dean into a position that he could easily half-carry him in. He let them into his apartment, quickly plonking Dean onto his bed. He'd sleep in the spare room tonight. Of course, Castiel would have to shift some boxes and make up the bed, but he put those thoughts aside for the meanwhile, favouring to help the man who needed him.

He stopped in his tracks, ruminating over that little fact. _Dean needs me._ Fair enough, Castiel had taken it upon himself to look after Dean's well-being for the time being, but being needed was new. Being needed was...well, it was _nice,_ for lack of a better word _,_ he mulled.

Almost a repeat of the night before, Castiel walked into the kitchen, getting Dean a glass of water. And right on cue, he heard a pathetic, “Cas?”

Padding back into his bedroom, he saw that Dean had sat up, and was unsuccessfully trying to remove his clothes. His t-shirt was caught around his head, his arms flailing as he groaned. Placing the glass on the side, Castiel went over to help him, lifting his shirt over his face and down his arms. They stared at each other in the darkened room. Dean swallowed, flitting his wide eyes up and down Castiel's overbearing form. Castiel's lips quirked, and he put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“It's time for you to sleep now, Dean,”

In response, Dean blew a raspberry and giggled, before falling back into the pillows. Castiel went to leave him to rest, but a hand caught his and violently pulled him down onto the bed. Apparently Dean was strong. _Of course he is,_ he thought, inwardly rolling his eyes at himself. _Dean is a construction worker._ Now, the question was: Why was Dean so determined to keep a hold on him? He couldn’t squirm out of the grip, and it was fairly embarrassing seeing as he was the sober one.

“Dean, what are you-”

“-Ssshhhhh...” Dean's other hand collided with Castiel's face, shmushing it. “You're gonna sleep here t'night. S'not fair that I take it an' you sleep somewhere else.”

“Okay, but Dean, I really need to -” his words were muffled behind the fingers.

“No ya don't,” Dean yawned in a singsong.

Huffing and repressing a sleepy smile, Castiel said, “Sleeping in my clothes would _not_ be comfortable. Please release me long enough so that I can change.”

Dean removed his hand. “Okie dokie, but you're comin' back.”

Castiel got changed into a loose grey t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Usually, he preferred to sleep in just the bottoms, or naked, but he decided that with company it would be inappropriate. He didn't entirely know _why_ he had agreed to sleep in the same bed as Dean, but he was sure it was probably to look after him, to soothe him if he had another nightmare, or to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. Yes, those were probably the reasons.

He slipped under the covers, something Dean had already done, and laid on his back. As soon as he had grown accustomed to the long-absent warmth in his bed, Dean rolled over onto Castiel's chest, letting his head make a home in the soft grey cotton. His arm fell across Castiel, his hand lazily stroking up and down Castiel's bicep.

“Dean...” Castiel worried, tension spreading through his body like wildfire.

“Relax...you never cuddled anyone before? I don't. 'M not a cuddler.”

Castiel laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that rumbled and vibrated in his chest. “Of course you're not.” He let his arm reposition itself around Dean so they would both be more comfortable. Dean snuggled into the crook that Cas had made for him.

“Feels nice...” Dean murmured, drifting off. “Haven't done this in a long time.”

With the threat of sleep coming in the form of longer and longer blinks, Castiel had to play back Dean's words a few times before they computed. “You haven't shared a bed in a long time?”

“No,” came Dean's soft reply. Castiel was surprised. People like _him_ hadn’t shared beds in a long time, not people like Dean.

“Neither have I.”

He let his eyes fall closed, and absentmindedly allowed his fingers to trace circles on Dean's lower back. It really was quite the phenomenon. They had known each other barely a week, and they were here. And as much as Cas thought about Dean's eyes, or how his bare chest felt against his own, hearts beating in sync, there was nothing romantic about it. It was simply strangers helping strangers out. They both needed this, this connection.

“Cas?” Dean mumbled.

Castiel was barely awake, coasting between wakefulness and sleep. “Mmhmm?”

“Why're you doin' this? You don't know me.”

“Because,” he yawned, “If I can look after a life, something that means something, then maybe my life is worth something.”

“There were a lot of somethings there.”

“I'm tired,” he croaked with a smile, his hand stroking through his dark hair a few times before it settled on the one slung across him, the thumb rubbing over the rough knuckles of the man's hand. “And there's something about you, Dean, that lets my mind’s guard down. I don't have to think about what I'm going to say when you're around.”

“There it is again, the something...” Castiel smiled and playfully cuffed Dean round the back of his head. “Ow! An' it's prolly 'cause you've seen me in some bad positions.”

Castiel felt Dean shift. He opened one eye and saw Dean looking up at him. Dean's face was all innocent, the drink removing the mask of bravado that Dean obviously made an effort to wear daily. “Why don't...why don'cha jus' get a dog?”

His eyebrows attempted to form a frown, but his body decided to use the energy on a befuddled question. “A what?”

“A dog. You wanna look after somethin'...buy a dog! Ya don't need me.” His hands lazily gestured as he spoke, their tired movements rucking up Castiel's shirt and exposing his stomach to Dean's insistent tracing fingers.

“I'm more of a cat person,” Castiel remarked as Dean wrinkled his nose. Obviously _he_ wasn't so much.

_And I'm beginning to think that I need you – more than you know._

He fell asleep on that thought, hoping that it was only his sleep-addled brain that meant it.

* * *

Dean was thrashing. The flailing limbs had woken Castiel, and he heard the same words that he had before, “Mom”, “No”, “Sammy” and “Fire”. He didn't know what to do, something that was becoming a regular occurrence around Dean, so he simply put his arms around him, held him tight and hummed in his ear. The tune was one of his own making, but it seemed to soothe Dean. The whimpers and the words quieted down, and he put his own arms around Castiel. They were now laying on their sides, Dean's head tucked under Castiel's chin, their legs tangled. Castiel was starting to drift off again when a low, slurred voice made him jump.

“My mom...she died in a fire when I was – I was four. I carried my little brother out, but my Dad couldn't save her. An' it was my fault.” Castiel felt a dampness on his collarbone, and chose to ignore it. If Dean needed to get this out, he would let him do it in any way he wanted to.

“It was my fault, Cas, an' my Dad hates me for it. I started the fire. I killed my mom. I killed my mom, Cas.” Castiel cupped the back of his head, stroking his hair and shushing the suppressed sobs.

“It's all right, Dean, it's all right. Shh. Go to sleep now.” Castiel's heart was bursting with sorrow for the man, and he could do nothing to ease the pain he had obviously been suffering for years. So he kissed the top of Dean's head, and resumed the humming that pacified him.


	5. Don't You Recall What You Felt When You Weren't Alone?

Sunlight streamed through Dean's excuse for a pair of curtains, blinding him as much as they could through his closed eyes. Scrunching his lids together a little more, he attempted to shift on the spot so he could face the other way, but a pair of strong arms around his torso prevented it. Dean's eyes flew open in surprise, and he immediately regretted it as the morning (or was it afternoon?) sun dazzled him. When his vision adjusted, he stared at his surroundings in confusion. _Wait a second...those aren't my curtains...this isn't my room...where am I?_ Dean groaned at his inner monologue, resenting the fact that his thoughts resembled those of an amnesiac in a badly-written movie. Frowning down at the hands on his stomach and chest, he tried to identify them. They didn't belong to a woman, that's for sure, so who the hell – Oh. Trying not to rub his butt on the guy's junk (Because – hello? Awkward. Even more awkward than waking up to being spooned [even if it did feel kinda nice]), Dean craned his neck as much as he could to see if his suspicions were correct. Noting the not-quite-black mess of hair and catching a glimpse of a sharp jaw-line, it was confirmed that Castiel was behind him.

Oh, this was such an inappropriate time to get a boner.

 _It's just morning wood, it's just morning wood..._ he assured himself through gritted teeth. Carefully taking Castiel's hands and removing them from his midsection, Dean shimmied out of the double bed in the slowest, quietest way he could. Rising to his feet, Dean immediately flopped back onto the bed again. _Damn head rush._ He was also pretty sure that he had a colossal hangover, too. Again. Slowly standing back up, he ran his fingers through his hair and padded towards the door. A soft huff made him turn around.

Castiel had moved onto his back, his left leg trying to capture the warmth that Dean had left. Dean battled with himself. Should he wake him up? On one hand, this was obviously Cas's apartment, and he had no idea what he was going to do if he didn't wake up, and on the other...well, Cas just looked so darn _peaceful._ Walking the few steps to Castiel's side of the bed – no, scrap sides, it was just Castiel's bed - Dean sat on the edge, careful not to wake the guy before he actually made up his mind that he was going to. Tentatively extending a hand out to gently shake him awake, he quickly brought it back into his body before it reached Castiel, like the air around the sleeping man had burnt him... _With the flames of an awesome idea._ Dean didn't want to wake him yet.

Feeling a slight chill, Dean wondered how the hell he had gone this long without realising that he was only in boxers. Cas wouldn't mind if he borrowed a dressing gown, right? There were two: a thick, fluffy navy one, and a thinner grey one. He swiped the latter off the back of the door, slipping it on. _Silk. Nice._ Tying it as he walked into the living room, he cast his eyes around for a bathroom. On his first three attempts, Dean found a kitchen, a linen closet and what looked like it was going to be an office. Pursing his lips in impatience, he had a mental conversation with the door as he opened it. _I swear to god, if you don't open into a bathroom, I will rip you off your hinges and – well, isn't it your lucky day?_ Hopefully Cas had some aspirin in here or something. Taking a sniff of himself, Dean noted that the stench of puke was lacking, and that Castiel used a detergent that reminded him of the one time he took the Impala out to the country.

Batting away the positive memories that rarely surfaced, he brought his hand up to his mouth, breathing into it so he could smell its rebound. _Wow,_ he thought. _I really didn't barf last night._ That must be why he was feeling so shitty. He had a hangover to rival those three guys in that movie that he once saw. Dean had only agreed to see it because he thought he could close the deal with the girl who was so adamant on watching it. 'At least it's not a chick flick,' he had said to himself at the time, but by the end of the date, the girl ( _What was her name...Lisa something?_ ) could only start her sentences with 'Bradley Cooper is _so_...', so he had called it a night.

“Now _that_ was a crappy movie,” Dean muttered to himself as he opened the cupboard over the sink. “ _Totally_ overrated,” he added as he twisted the tiny bottles around, looking for the one that would rid him of the god-awful headache he was sporting. “Ah-ha! Jackpot.” Dean tipped a few of the white pills into his palm, swallowing them down with a cupped handful of tap water. Maybe it wasn't the best way to go about it, but hey! He'd just woken up with no recollection of the night before. Dean had probably done worse things last night.

Shutting the cabinet door, Dean was suddenly faced with his reflection. He looked like absolute shit. Dark rings under his eyes, cracked lips, stubble growing into a beard – when was the last time he had shaved? Rubbing at his cheek, he grimaced at himself. _I really need to start taking care of myself..._ But when was the last time he'd made that promise? Dean sighed and splashed water on his face. There. He looked a bit better now. A little pissed off maybe, but cold water did that to you. Apparently, cold water also triggered something else.

Memories of last night flashed in his mind.

_Lightsaber eyes._

_A blond guy hugging Cas._

_Bright streetlights that made him wince._

_Wanting to press all the buttons._

_Cas helping him take his shirt off._

_Dragging Castiel into the bed._

_Cas is a cat person._

Wow. Now he _really_ needed to make it up to Cas. Why the hell would he keep helping him like this? Dean was nothing more than a burden, and that had only been proved more in the past few days. He'd make it better. He wanted...whatever _this_ was to _work._ He wanted to be able to hold on to something for once, not to leave it in a worse state.

Initially, he had planned to order in some kind of brunch food, whatever brunch was, but now he was resolved to thank Castiel in the Dean Winchester way - cooking breakfast.

Dean had always cooked for Sammy when they were younger, either when Dad was out on a job or at a bar, and the food was always well received. However, going by Sam's occasional sarcastic remark on how Dean survived alone, his little brother had forgotten. Well, if Sam wanted to brush off their less-than-ideal childhood, who was Dean to deny him of that? It was no skin off his back.

It wasn't hard to find the kitchen – he'd happened upon it a couple of minutes ago when looking for the bathroom, and he'd left the door open in his wake. _Right. Breakfast._ What would Cas want for breakfast? What did Cas like? _Well, idiot, opening the cupboards and the fridge might be a start._ On the near-bare shelves, there was only a possibility for a few meals, give or take a few ingredients. Dean took out bread, eggs, bacon, sausages, potatoes and a can of baked beans. He could make some sort of breakfast out of that, he was sure. What did they call it? A full English breakfast? Yeah. He'd attempt something like that - emphasis on 'attempt'.

Dean started by peeling and dicing the potatoes, forming them into patties that were just even. He found a frying pan, splashed a little cooking oil in it, and started frying the hash browns on a low heat. Dean really hoped that Castiel had more than one frying pan otherwise this fry-up wasn't going to go to plan. _Ahh, never mind. I'll oven cook the bacon and the sausages. Use the grill or something._ Guessing what temperature it should be, he laid a few sausages in the indentations of the grill tray. If Cas wasn't a big eater, he'd have the leftovers.

Now for the french toast. Dean beat a couple of eggs, added a dash of milk (that was just the right side of out of date) and soaked two slices of bread in the mix, putting them in the only other frying pan Castiel had. Sprinkling a little cinnamon over the top of them, he only had to add the bacon and cook the beans. Dean slid the tray out of the oven, putting a couple of strips between the sausages. Sliding it back in, he upped the temperature, opened the can of beans and emptied its contents into a saucepan.

Only having to stir and flip for the next few minutes, he got a plate out to dish it all up on. Dean stood back with his hands on his hips and admired his skills. He grinned. Yeah, this was one hell of a thank you. The bacon and the sausages went on the plate first (not all of them of course, just in case Cas wanted seconds) followed shortly by the beans and the hash browns. After popping the french toast on another plate, he picked both the plates out and turned round, ready to head into the bedroom and present the breakfast to the man who had kindly taken care of him, even when he didn't deserve it.

Starting a little when he saw the aforementioned man blindly walking across the living room and almost into him, Dean thanked the deities of cooking for his quick reflexes.

“Woah, Cas, buddy! Watch where you're walking!” Dean's voice was still a little rough from sleep, nearly deepening enough to rival Castiel's.

Cas stopped rubbing at his eyes, blinking the blur of his slumber away. He looked at Dean as though he were an apparition. “Dean?" He frowned.

“Yeah. It's me,” Dean replied with trepidation. He couldn't decipher the mood Cas was in, and it was making him wilt from the inside out.

“I just -” Cas yawned, scrunching his face up in a way that was totally not adorable. “When I saw the empty side of the bed, I presumed that you had left.”

“Nah, man! I ,uh, I made you breakfast.” He mumbled the last part, shuffling awkwardly while his tensed wrists yelled at him to put the plates down to ease the ache.

Cas's blue eyes widened. “You made me breakfast?”

Suddenly, Dean was doubting his 'awesome' idea. Maybe Castiel wasn't a breakfast guy, maybe it was completely unwarranted and Cas just wanted him out of his apartment. If someone had stayed the night at his and cooked him breakfast the next morning, Dean would have politely eaten it and sent them on their way shortly after, with no numbers exchanged. “Yeah, is that okay? It's not like, too weird or anything?”

“Dean,” Castiel dead-panned. “We slept in the same bed last night. I'm fairly certain that you making breakfast for me isn't 'too weird'.” With that, Cas grabbed the plates from Dean's hands and headed into the kitchen, gesturing with his head for Dean to follow. He set the plates down on the dining table at the end of the kitchen, and sat down to eat.

He looked at Dean strangely and expectantly. “Did you not make yourself anything?”

“No, I just...This was a –” Dean blundered. “Never mind.”

“Please, continue.” Castiel picked up his fork and stabbed it into a hash brown.

Dean winced in anticipation of whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “This breakfast...it was a thank you. For, you know, takin' care of my drunk ass.”

“I don't need a thank you, Dean.” Cas took this moment to point his fork at Dean, getting the other man to meet his gaze. “We're friends, correct?”

“Correct?" he half asked, narrowing his eyes as the choice of words.

“From what I understand, friends help friends out. I was merely - mmmff – Dean, did you make these?” exclaimed Castiel through the mouthful of potato.

“Yeah, are they good?” Excitement shone through his eyes. Sammy had only appreciated his food this much when he was six and Dean cooked dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets as a treat.

Cas shut his eyes, nodding sincerely as he chewed, as though he were savouring the taste. Dean smiled at the reaction, crossing his arms on the table and just watching his breakfast be enjoyed. There was something he needed to get off his chest, though. Ever since a few select memories resurfaced, Dean couldn't strike one particular image from his mind.

“So Cas. I'm kinda starting to remember what happened last night, an' I just wanna say that I'm sorry. I mean, obviously you were with a guy, and I cock-blocked you...”

Castiel almost choked. “With a guy?”

“Yeah, he had blond hair, was wearing a douchey shirt with his suit...he hugged you?”

“Oh.” Cas cast his eyes back down to his breakfast, pushing the food around in him discomfort. “That was not... 'a guy'.”

Dean frowned in incomprehension, but let out a low whistle with a smirk when he finally understood. “Wow, surgeries are getting more and more convincing these days.”

It was Castiel's turn to frown. “Surgeries?”

“Yeah, surgeries. If he wasn't a guy, then he's a girl, right?” When Cas didn't seem any closer to understanding (which was odd, considering Cas was the one who brought up the whole not-a-guy thing), Dean added, “Goin' through the hormones to grow a beard?”

The frown turned into an expression of bemused realisation. “Oh. For someone who seems relatively intelligent, you don't seem to pick up on certain subtleties in speech.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I get the feeling I should be offended...?”

“I mean it wasn't just _'a guy'_. It was Balthazar.”

“Balthazar?” Dean's stomach dropped with the weight behind that name. He swallowed, and his voice went unnaturally high as he asked, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Cas scooped up a forkful of beans, chewing while thinking hard about the words he was going to say.

“I don't mean to... _nose_ or whatever, I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” Dean chattered.

“It's quite all right,” Castiel began. “He _was_ my partner, for a time. We met at the clinic, and embarked on a relationship. I checked out, and as soon as he did too, we tried again, but it didn't work out. We are just good friends, now. Balthazar is one of the few people I keep close. Last night was the last time I'll see him for a long time.” Cas went quiet, concentrating on his meal.

Dean put his head in his hands, any good mood he was in completely shattered. “Oh man, I'm sorry. I ruined your night, didn't I?" He shook his head and muttered, “God, I'm so _selfish._ ”

A hand pulled one of his away from his face, and Dean made up for its absence by spreading his fingers as far across his features as they would go. “ _Dean.”_

“What?" he mumbled through his hand.

“Look at me.” Dean's hand was lightly squeezed, encouraging him to peek through his fingers into the earnest expression of the man opposite.

Dean grunted. “Yeah?”

“You are not selfish, nor did you ruin my evening. And have I mentioned that this is the best breakfast I've ever had?”

He perked up as he asked, “Really?”

“Yes. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to eat the rest of it before it gets cold. Please, help yourself to whatever is left over.” Cas squeezed his hand again, and Dean felt something weird go on in his stomach again. _I'm probably hungry. I'd better feed the monster!_

Dean scooped the few hash browns left onto another plate, along with a rasher of bacon and a couple of sausages. Sitting back down at the table, he noticed Castiel giving his french toast a hard stare.

Inspecting it from all angles, Cas asked with the utmost curiosity, “What is this?”

“It's french toast, man.” He shovelled a whole piece of bacon in his mouth, carrying the conversation on through his chewing. “Eggy bread, gypsy toast. What, you never had it before?”

“No.”

Dean surveyed the plate a second time. The two slices of bread were still completely intact, sans a tiny perfect square that Cas had cut off and eaten. “You don't like it?" he worried.

Cas took another bite of it, weighing up his options before innocently looking at Dean through his lashes. “Will you teach me how to make it?”

“Sure thing, Cas!” He grinned broadly. It was nice to feel useful for something. “You wanna learn after you're finished eating?”

Castiel promptly nodded, adding, “I should probably shower and get dressed, first.”

Dean hummed, starting on a sausage. Man, he was a good cook when he tried. He glanced back up at Cas, who was squinting in his direction. He stared right back, and raised a brow as if to say, 'What are you looking at?'

“Are you wearing my robe?”

“No!” Dean instinctively retorted in defence. Castiel only shot him a look synonymous with 'Bitch please'. “What? It's nice!”

Cas's lips quirked. “I know, that's why I bought it.”

“Well, I can take it off if you want, but I warn you: not many people can be in the presence of my magnificent body without wanting to ravish it.”

“You stripped in front of me last night and slept in your boxers, I think that I am one of the exceptions. But you can keep it on, just in case I feel the need to do any 'ravishing'.” Dean laughed at that, and they smiled at each other over the table.

 _I was right,_ Castiel thought. _Dean's laughter really is a wonderful sound._

“Yeah, we wouldn't want you to go all Mills and Boon on me now, would we?” _Maybe just a little,_ Dean silently added.

Castiel neatly placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Mills and Boon?”

“You know, romance novels? Throbbing members and all that?” Dean stood and started to clear the table, putting the empty dishes in the sink and running the water.

“I don't read romance novels,” Castiel bluntly replied, his throaty voice carrying both a hint of amusement and curiosity.

“Well you're not missing out on anything, dude. Stay away from them.” The water had heated up, and Dean started filling the bowl with the warm water, along with squirting in an unnecessarily copious amount of washing up liquid.

Castiel stood, walking over to the sink. “No – Dean, let me wash up, you are a guest.”

Turning so that he was protecting the sink, Dean held his ground. He had cooked, so he would clean up. It was still his thank you, after all. “How 'bout this – I wash, you dry?”

“ _I_ wash, _you_ dry.”

Dean didn't want to mess with that stubborn tone and stern expression. “Okay, man, whatever you say.” They switched places, Dean drying his hands on Cas's back as they moved around each other.

Cas gave Dean a look that was an amalgamation of wither, puppy eyes and exasperation, and the latter of the men chuckled.

“You should be thankful that that's warm water, Dean Winchester. If it were cold, I could not be held responsible for my actions.” Cas set a clean plate on the sideboard.

Dean started drying, sardonically remarking, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Never get on my bad side.”

“No, Cas – I meant – It's just a -” Dean glanced up from his task to see Cas sporting a ridiculous face, one that obviously declared that the previous statement was Castiel's idea of a joke.

Dean flicked him with the towel. “You're a dork, you know that?”

“And you read romance novels. Tell me, Dean, of how many synonyms are you aware for the word 'penis'?”

“Hey! Waiting around for the laundry to be done gets boring, and those things are all over the place! Forgive me for being curious as to what the big deal is. They're not even that hot.”

Castiel smiled that small smile of his, and continued washing up.

* * *

“Dude, I swear, I spent like, five whole minutes looking for a friggin' bathroom, and it turns out that you have an en suite?” Dean's voice came from the shower (‘It has a superior water pressure,’ Cas had said), reverberating around the tiles and slightly masked by the water hitting his body. Castiel tried not to picture it for too long.

“Oh man, this is one sweet shower. Heh, one sweet, en suite...Hey, why can't I hear you laughing? I'm a comedy genius!”

Castiel was getting dressed, having already washed. He was still slightly distracted by the way Dean's gaze had lingered over him when he emerged from the steamy room in just a towel. Feeling a little self conscious, he had put his fluffy dressing gown on, dropping the towel from around his waist when it was on and whipping it out from underneath the gown to dry his hair. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to do that. It had obviously embarrassed Dean, as his jaw had fallen agape and he had muttered something about a 'male version of the bra trick'. Castiel didn't comment on his lack of knowledge of 'the bra trick'. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Dean more uncomfortable. He knew that people didn't like explaining things to him, as it could be frustrating, but Dean hadn't gotten worked up about it yet. Dean had been patient, and wanted to educate Castiel on the things he didn't know about. It was only a matter of time before that patience ran out.

“I assure you, I would be laughing if it were the first time I had heard that pun,” he called back, buttoning his shirt simultaneously.

Castiel could practically hear the raise of Dean's eyebrows. “Ooh, Cas, how many people do you let shower in here? I'm not judging, but obviously you have great taste, going on their sense of humour.”

“Not that many.” Gabriel had insisted on using it, and had repeated the joke until Castiel was forced to fake a smile. But other than his brother, there had only been a few men and one woman who had all described it as 'sweet'. Castiel wasn't promiscuous in any sense of the word, it was just that relationships had never appealed to him. Not after what had happened with Balthazar. He was too broken for anyone to fix, but no-one could really see the cracks. So they flirted with him, and occasionally he would surprise himself by taking someone home with him and fucking them into the mattress. Sometimes, his sexual escapades alarmed him. Castiel was like a man starved on those occasions. He sometimes thought, that if he believed in that sort of thing, that in a past life he might have been some sort of religious man, making up for his lack of sex then in his current one.

He heard the squeak of the shower knob and after a few tinny, echoed murmurs, Dean opened the door a crack. His eyes were squeezed shut and steam was pouring out from above his head. For such an odd image, it was very serene.

“Uhh...you decent? Can I open my eyes?” Dean coughed a little, the steam from his shower attempting to invade his lungs.

Cas zipped up his trousers. “You may,” he permitted, tilting his hips forward so he could determine where the hole was to correctly buckle his belt.

Dean caught sight of this, and felt a flush spread over his face. _It's from the shower, it was a hot shower...shit, now I need a_ cold _shower..._ Trying to shake the feeling off, he plastered on a smile. Cas was looking at him expectantly with those wide blue eyes of his. What was with Dean lately? Seriously, the next time he went out, he was going to bang the first chick who made those eyes at him. His dick had gone so long without the attention of someone who wasn't Dean's right hand that it had started to perk up for dudes. Well. One dude in particular.

“Dean?” Like the Impala tyres on the gravel driveway of his childhood home, Cas's voice cut through his reverie. “Was there something you wanted?”

Shit. He'd just been staring and smiling. Like a weirdo.  _Fan-fuckin'-tastic._

He dropped the creepy smile only to have a sheepish one take its place. “Oh, no. I mean, yeah. Could I get a towel?”

“Did you not take the one I left out for you?” Castiel said with the frown that somehow wasn't entirely etched into his face yet.

Dean shook his head, licking his lower lip as he cast his eyes around for the said towel. “Where'd you put it?”

“On your side of the bed.” On realising that he had assigned Dean a 'side', Castiel stuttered, “Oh, um, I-I mean, the si - the side that you slept on. In. Last night...night.”

Comforted that Cas could get flustered, Dean snorted. “Last night night...anyway. You wanna pass me it?” Castiel reached across the bed, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to inspect a certain body part between Cas's back and legs, but he simply averted his gaze. Cas turned back to him, towel in hand, extending it to the crack in the door. Dean took it but before drying himself off, he put his face right between the door and the frame.

“Here's Johnny!” He grinned at Castiel, who squinted at him like he was a crossword puzzle just one word from completion. “Oh come on, man! The Shining?” His green eyes were wide and bright, yearning for understanding and acknowledgement that he rarely, if _ever_ , got outside of the forums he surfed every so often.

Apparently, Cas wasn't any closer to solving that puzzle. “I'm not familiar with it.”

“Never mind.” Dean closed the door again, towelling himself off. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?" he answered, raising his voice a little so that Dean could hear him through the door and steam-laden air.

“Are you doin' anything today?” The almost hopeful voice was accompanied by the sound of rough towelling, and Cas wanted to tell Dean to be gentler with himself. Even if it were only a soft fluffy towel, he didn't want Dean to mar the beatific expanse of skin he had held and unconsciously caressed last night.

“No. Why?” Cas idly asked, his mind wandering to whether he should wear a tie or not.

The next sentence was jerky and muffled, and Castiel guessed that Dean was drying his hair. He tried to come up with something witty about its dirty blond colour no longer being so dirty, but gave up in the middle of Dean's speech once he realised he wasn't paying attention. Embarrassed, he asked him to repeat what he had just said, and Dean kindly obliged with no edge of irritation in his voice, only tentative questioning. “You wanna do somethin'?”

“Like what?” Dean wanted to do something? He would _have_ to wear a tie now, it was part of his going out ensemble. Without his trenchcoat or a tie, Cas couldn't face the world. _Maybe Dean could pick a tie for me. I have a whole rack of them..._ He trailed off in the middle of his thought, proclaiming such a thing to be odd.

Coming out of the bathroom in Cas's robe and drying the back of his head, Dean shrugged and said, “I don't know. We could drive somewhere.”

“Where?” Castiel didn't mean to ask so many questions and seem so obtuse; he just liked to see and hear Dean speak, to imagine and confirm what faces he made around certain words. Dean was fascinating, even if he didn't know it, and Castiel was eager to learn the ins and outs of him before their time together inevitably ran out.

“I don't know!” Dean folded his towel and held his hands up in exasperation. “Just somewhere. You choose.”

“Oh.” Castiel contemplated all the locations he knew of, where would be interesting, where Dean would like, where would be quiet and free of crowds. Then, a thought struck him.

“I think I have just the place.”

* * *

Dean had absolutely no idea why he suggested this. Well. He had _one_ idea, and it was a stupid one at that. Dean just wanted to spend more time with Cas. After figuring out that he couldn't fight their growing friendship (or his growing non-platonic feelings), he embraced it. Technically, Dean came to terms with his lot while in the midst ( _or_ mist _, heh_ ) of his shower. It really did have a superior water pressure to any other that he had experienced. It was like the water was massaging everywhere at once, the deep cleanse purifying everything but his thoughts.

They had been driving for about fifteen minutes now, and Cas had said that it wouldn't take long. Where were they going? Not out of Haeds, they weren't on the correct road for that.

“Where are we even _going_ , man?”

His pouting was ignored and Cas kept his eyes on the road, something Dean was never fully able to do. “Wait until we get there.”

“Why?" he huffed, shifting around in his seat and messing with the window. For some reason, he just wanted Cas to _look_ at him, to give him the attention he craved.

Castiel shot him a long suffering look. _Ha. I win._ “Because.”

“But _why_ because?” God, he sounded like a whiny child.

“Just because, Dean.” The corner of Cas's lip curved upwards, not taking Dean's irritating inquisitions to heart.

He stared at Cas's curved lips a while longer before shutting himself down and turning his gaze to the colours of the cars that passed them, tallying them up in his head. “Will it take long?”

“We're almost there, just be patient.”

Most of the journey had been in silence, save for the chatter of the radio. It was the same low murmur that Dean recognised from his time in Castiel's car before, after he'd called him up on the bridge.

“What are we listening to?”

“A podcast,” Cas replied, unaware that Dean might want a _few_ more specifics than the obvious.

“...Of?" he egged, amused at Castiel's frank answers.

“A radio programme that I always miss.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got that. I meant: What are they talking about? Where's the music?”

“There is no music. They have a different discussion every week – about religion, gardening, the pros and cons of organic living...anything and everything, really. This week's is a debate about feminism in television. Right now, they're pointing out shows with heavy misogynistic undertones.”

“...Right.”

Readily, Cas offered, “I can turn it off if you would like?”

“No, no, it's fine.” Dean held up an apologetic hand. “I was just wondering how you can...you know, really listen to it and, uh - _understand -_ if you don't watch TV.” He glanced over at the driver to see if he had caused offence in any way. To his surprise, Castiel laughed.

“That's true.” The smile that had emerged during Castiel's laugh lingered on his face as he continued. “But it is interesting to listen to the different opinions. And I like to hear people talk. It...soothes me, in a way. My mother used to talk to me a lot as a child, before she passed. It was something that I inherited, until –“ Suddenly, the smile that Dean had become so fond of in the last ten seconds had faded, and he was left with a blank, emotionless slate. “Never mind. I wouldn't want to burden you with the tales of my happy childhood.”

Cas laughed again, barely. It was a bitter huff, sapping the warmth out of his blue eyes. The knuckles on the steering wheel had turned white, and Dean didn't press further.

They took a right onto an unadopted road, and Dean was thankful for the suspension in Cas's car. Pulling up and gently parking on a grassy verge, just below a hill, Castiel faced his passenger and stated, “We're here.” He took off his seatbelt, but didn't make any move to get out of the car other than that.

Dean opened his door, hoping it would prompt Cas to do the same. But he simply sat there, staring at his hands. “Uh...you okay?”

“Yes.” Cas rubbed the back of his neck.

Dean shut his car door, and took a breath. He could do this. He could totally talk to Cas about whatever was bothering him. He was trying to be a better person. “What's up?”

“I...I've never brought anyone here before.”

Dean thought it over. “So, it's like, a sacred place for you, or something?”

“You could say that,” Castiel slowly responded, mulling over his words.

Encouragingly, Dean coaxed, “So why did you bring me here?”

“I don't know. I thought it would help. Help the both of us with our...” Cas looked like he wanted to put his face in his hands. “Our difficulties.”

Without thinking, Dean jumped out of the car, jogged round to Cas's side, and opened the door. He held out his hand, and ignoring Cas's expression of incredulity he breathlessly said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Let's help the shit out of ourselves!”

Castiel's face transformed into one of wonderment and he slowly took the hand that was offered to him. Dean pulled him out of the car, letting Cas lead the rest of the way up the hill, their fingers still intertwined. When they got to the top, Dean's jaw dropped.

“Wow...” he whispered into the wind, entranced by the view. He was on a cliff, looking out to an endless blue sea a few shades stormier than Cas's eyes, only a metal bar stopping him from diving off. There was a sign warning them of erosion, so they couldn't go right to the edge. But that didn't matter. All he saw was the sky melting into the sea, the dry grass of the cliff laced with purple heather, and Cas in his peripherals, watching him expectantly.

“What do you think?” Castiel asked softly.

“I think...that I can see why you come here.” They looked at each other, before realising themselves and releasing the grip they both had on the other's hand.

Dean coughed. “So, uh, you never even brought your ex here?" he ventured.

“Balthazar? No.” Cas started walking to a nearby bench, making a gesture for Dean to follow. “This has always been a sanctuary for me, one of my 'Heavens',” Castiel smiled embarrassedly as he admitted it, knowing full well that most people would laugh at this fact.

But Dean didn't laugh. He just nodded, like he understood. “'Heavens'? Plural?”

“I have seven. Well, six, now.” It would take a while before he could find peace at the train station.

Dean frowned. “Six? Has bringin' me here ruined this place for you?”

“No, Dean, no. It was the, um – the train station.” Cas instantly regretted telling him this information. He cast his eyes down, hoping Dean would let it go for now.

“Oh.” Dean sat dejectedly, before muttering, “So I _have_ ruined one of them.”

“Not at all. It's just a place, Dean, nothing more. You haven't ruined anything for me.”

“Okay,” he said, clearly not believing Castiel. He looked out to the sea, trying not to fidget. Remembering what happened at the train station was difficult. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and Dean felt as though he was almost an entirely different person to the one who had jumped onto the tracks. Since then, he'd met Cas, and well – not to say that Cas had changed his life, but...in a way, he had. He'd endorsed it. So he owed Castiel, for so many things.

“Cas?”

Castiel faced him, earnestly awaiting the continuation of his speech. “Uh, I want to tell you some things, 'cause...we're friends, and well, you're kinda my _only_ friend, and that means that you have to put up with me. And putting up with me means that you have to _know_ me, you know? You gotta know why I tried to do what I tried to do, and why I'm so messed up.”

“I assure you, I am not 'putting up with you', I -”

“I know, but I just want you to listen, okay? Otherwise...I probably won't get it all out. So here goes – wait, you don't mind me telling you this, do you? I mean, you can tell me to shut up and -”

It was Castiel's turn to interrupt. “Do you really think that I would not be willing to hear you speak, even though I have brought you here? As you said earlier, this is a sacred place, and you are more than welcome to share anything you wish with me. So please, continue. I will not interject.” He shifted a little closer to Dean on the bench, patiently and serenely listening to the waves and the wind until Dean's voice accompanied them.

Dean shakily exhaled an, “Okay,” which was more for his benefit than for Cas's. “So, when I was four, my mom died.” He swallowed. “There was a fire, and my dad got out, and I got my little brother out, but she didn't make it. Dad tried to go back in, but the fire was too much and – well, he almost died in there, too. The firemen just about brought him back to life. Then we moved up here, from Kansas, and we tried to make a home here. But Dad was hardly ever there. Y'know. Mentally _and_ physically. He drank, and he worked jobs out of town, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it better - for any of us. And I really wanted to, Cas, I did. I tried tellin' him that it would be okay, that it was gonna be alright, but he never believed it. And he never tried believin' it, either.

“I got a job, soon as I could, to help, I looked after Sammy – hell, I practically _raised_ that kid – I cooked, I cleaned, I did everything I could to be a good son. But it was never enough. And you know why? 'Cause it was my fault that my mom died.”

In the midst of Dean's confession, Castiel realised what the nightmares had been about. He had comforted him while Dean had whimpered words about the fire and his mother, but this was Dean's chance to explain while awake and sober, and Castiel was more than willing to hear the full story.

“The firemen – they found a melted lighter at the centre of the fire. I had been trying to flick it on, I wanted to be cool like my dad, even though they'd both told me to leave it alone. So when they told Dad that that was what had caused it...” Dean paused to shake his head, his lip curling in fear for a millisecond. “He never forgave me. And I've never forgiven myself, either. You don't just make that kind of thing go away. Sam doesn't know – he just thinks that me and Dad don't get on. You know, when I was sixteen, he gave me his car – oh, she's a beauty, a '67 Chevy Impala – but he took it away a month later, 'cause _apparently_ I wasn't lookin' after her properly. Bullshit. I loved that car. But growing up, I was treated like...like I wasn't there. Like I didn't matter. I moved just after Sammy went to college. I couldn't be on my own with Dad. And it's like Sam doesn't even remember half the shit I did for him. I'm not askin' for anythin' in return, just...acknowledgement that I took better care of him than our dad did, you know?

Dean paused while he collected himself with a few breaths, and Cas watched him, ever so patient, on the look out for signs that he was supposed to do something, like pat him on the shoulder, or nod, or even speak, but Dean went on. “Sam called me up the other day. Told me that Dad had been in an accident, and wanted to see me. Bastard's fine, of course, but got a new lease on life. I don't believe it. I don't wanna talk to him. Before – when I tried to throw myself in front of that train – I thought I _had_ to do it, that it was meant to be, or something. 'Cause that was the first time I'd left my apartment in a week. I was just holed up, in my bed, sleepin' every day away...and then I got this burst of...I don't know what, but it made me feel invincible. Like nothin' could harm me. I turned the shower up to the highest temperature, I didn't look when I crossed the streets, I deliberately walked through the shady parts of town, and finally I thought – well, if nothin' else is gonna off me, obviously I need to do it myself. No one's gonna miss me, so why not?

“The second time, on the bridge...I was having the same thoughts, you know? But then as I was about to do it, I thought of you. Of you pushin' me up against that wall and just growling at me. And for some reason, some stupid promise that I made to a total stranger stopped me. And I called you. And honestly? I think...I think that that's one of the best decisions I've ever made. So I guess – I guess I'm saying thanks.”

Dean blinked away a couple of tears that were threatening to make tracks on his face. Facing Castiel, he tried a smile, but all he achieved was a trembling upturn of his lips.

“Dean...” Castiel's voice was soft and understanding, his expression sorrowful. He placed his hand atop of Dean's, on his knee.

Dean managed a shaky laugh. “You know, we sure hold hands a lot for two dudes who are just friends.”

“I'd say we were a little more than friends, wouldn't you?” Cas smiled. “I'd call it...well, I wouldn't know what to call it, but it's...profound, to say the least.”

“Profound,” Dean tried the word out in his mouth, and found himself liking it.

“And there's nothing wrong with holding hands. I've been told it's a comforting gesture, as well as a stimulant to keep spirits up.”

“Aww, and here I thought you just liked my hands, Cas.”

“Maybe I do,” came Cas's reply.

The moment was interrupted by the buzzing of Castiel's phone. Frowning at the caller ID, he glanced at Dean to make sure the call was okay to take. Dean rotated his wrist, fingers curled in a 'go ahead' gesture.

“Gabriel, what do you want?” Dean watched as Cas's face paled and fell. He attempted to hear the person on the other side, to hear what it was that had Cas like this. Suddenly, Dean wanted to wrap the other man up in his arms. Cas's voice was thick with emotion when he answered with monosyllabic words, until variation came in the form of “Goodbye.”

Castiel wouldn't look at Dean. He was just staring blankly ahead, the blue eyes searching for something. Dean knew that he had to be the one to pull Cas out of it, whatever it was.

“Cas, what is it?” No answer. He got off the bench, kneeling before Castiel, trying to get the man to look at him. Dean was seriously worrying now. Maybe Cas needed an anchor.

He took a hold of Cas's hands, with the phone still clutched between them. “Cas, look at me. _Cas!”_

Castiel finally met his eyes, and announced in a low voice:

“Anna. She's dead.”


	6. I Need You By My Side

“You gonna get dressed today?” Dean asked as Cas emerged from his room, still in pyjamas.

Cas scowled. “No,” he harshly bit.

Dean held up his hands in a mock surrender. “Okay man, just askin'. But you need to shower, at least.”

Cas grunted in reply. He'd been like this for a week now, ever since he got the call about Anna. Dean had driven them back to Castiel's, Cas too shell-shocked to do anything but stare into space, almost catatonic. He hadn't cried once, but he _had_ been sleeping in 'til the afternoon, refusing to eat and avoiding normal clothes.

Seeing Cas like this made him certain of one thing - he wasn't in any condition to work. So, he coaxed the number of Cas's assistant out of the half-asleep man and found out that Cas hadn't had a day off in eight years, i.e. the entire time he'd worked there. No sick days, no vacations, nada. Three weeks off sounded appropriate, and Alfie, Cas's assistant, was very accommodating. Dean may have had several talkings to with the other staff to get them to help with Cas's workload, but it was all sorted eventually.

However, even with the three weeks off, Dean worried that it wasn't enough time. What if Cas got worse? What if he had some kind of breakdown again? The funeral was only three days away, and Cas kept muttering things about 'showing them', and 'why like this?'. The cryptic monologues were even worse at night time.

The first night Dean had stayed, Cas had woken him up at an ungodly hour, crawling in to share the bed in the spare room. The next night, Cas had wordlessly pulled him into his own. Since then, it was an unspoken agreement that they would share Cas's bed every night. Nothing happened – it was simply comforting for Cas to have someone there. Apparently, it calmed him when he layed his head on Dean's chest, listening to his heart beat. And it was comforting for Dean, too; he hadn't had a nightmare in a week. Either that, or he didn't remember them. Whatever was happening, it was a win/win situation.

The nightmares being put on hold wasn't the only foreign-feeling thing that had happened, though. Dean was starting to notice things - things he hadn't noticed for years. The beauty of the sun as it moved out from behind a cloud, the smell of freshly cut grass, and people; he noticed people.

Whenever Dean would be in a crowd before, he would cast his eyes down, paying no attention to anything but his feet on the pavement. He would be in his own little bubble, trapped in his head with his overwhelming thoughts, but now he eyed the people of his town with wonder. Where were they going? What did they do for a living? What were they thinking right now?

It was as though looking after Cas had given him a sense of purpose, a cause, a reason to wake up in the morning. Making sure Cas was going to get through his bereavement was his priority. It took precedence over everything – including what Cas thought about it. Which is why Dean ignored Cas's weak protests as he grabbed his shoulders and steered him into the en suite.

Locking the door behind them, Dean opened the shower cubicle and twisted the knob until the water was at the pressure that he knew was best. Cas folded his arms in defiance.

“You can't make me shower, Dean.”

“Yes I can,” Dean factually announced.

Cas scoffed. “You are hardly going to strip me down,”

“Don't tempt me. And you can shave as well, while you're cleanin' yourself up. As much as I dig the peach fuzz, it has to go.”

“What's wrong with it?" he indignantly cried.

“Nothing!” Dean exclaimed with choler, his green eyes huge and piqued. “I just thought you wanted to 'show them', that's all. You can't prove 'em wrong with an untidy beard, that's what I say.”

“You've never said that before...” Cas questioned as he narrowed his eyes. Dean smiled fondly. _There you are._

Steam started to fog up the room, prompting Dean to ask, “So are you gonna get in?”

Cas sniffed.

“Fine, have it your way.” With that, Dean opened the shower door again and shoved Cas in, pyjamas and all.

Cas stumbled and spluttered. “I do not believe this is _'my way'_ , Dean!” He looked a state, the water beating down on him and soaking him and his clothes through. The water plastered his hair down, giving him something of a strange fringe.

“You pushed me!” Dean exclaimed.

“No, _you_ pushed _me!_ ”

“Only in the literal sense! I'm just trying to help you!”

“I don't need your help!” spat Cas.

It went quiet, save for the sound of the water running.

“Dean, I -”

“Fine.”

“No, I'm -”

“I said _fine._ You don't need my help, huh? Then you don't need me to leave out some clean clothes for you, you don't need me to prevent you from starving to death, and you sure as hell don't need me to sleep properly.”

Cas blinked, wounded, but before he had the chance to respond, Dean growled, “I'm goin' out.”

Of course, Dean left clean clothes out for him anyway. Castiel was just another Sam. Once he'd exhausted his use for Dean, he'd just leave, or send him away.

* * *

Dean contemplated going straight home to his own apartment, but he couldn't help thinking about Cas and his grieving problem. Dean had heard about the '5 Steps of Grief', but obviously Cas hadn't, skipping denial, anger and bargaining and going straight to depression - do not pass 'go', do not collect $200. And he had been there. _No,_ he firmly decided. _Cas needs someone right now, even if he won't admit it._ Maybe he had overreacted slightly. Cas wasn't going to use him, Cas _saved_ him. Why would he waste that?

So once he had walked off his thoughts, he took the bus to his place, but only to collect some more clothes. He wasn't sure how long Cas would need him, but he was willing to stay until Cas got sick of him. Which would happen eventually. It always did. Shaking his head, Dean shooed that little reminder away.

As he was on another bus that would drop him by Cas's, he momentarily wondered how he was going to get in. No doubt Cas would be asleep or in bed, and refuse to buzz him up. They passed a few buildings, and Dean's eyes widened as he realised that he could let himself in; he'd borrowed the fancy key card needed to get back into the building a couple of days ago when he had done some grocery shopping for Cas. Thankfully, the card was still in his jacket pocket. It was as if the universe wanted him to go back to Castiel.

He got off the bus and adjusted the rucksack on his shoulder. It was fairly full, due to the clothes he'd stuffed in it, but Dean refused to wear it correctly on his back with the straps on either shoulder. The name 'Dean Winchester' did not have the word 'dork' in it, and he wasn't planning to rectify that to ease a little discomfort.

Swiping the card in the slot, he proceeded to get into the elevator and press the button for the fourth floor. Dean felt his face twine into a wistful smile at the memory of Cas snatching his hand away as he attempted to press all of the buttons in his drunken state.

He knocked on Cas's door, only to be met with a distant, hesitant, “Who is it?”

“It's Han Solo,” he sarcastically answered. “Who do you think it is?”

“...I don't understand, why would -”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It's Dean, you idiot. Now let me in.”

There was a scuffle, a bang, and a cry of pain. Dean panicked. “Cas buddy, you okay?" he called, almost hugging the door.

“I stubbed my toe.” Cas sounded more like his pride had been hurt than his toe, and Dean couldn't help but laugh at the grumpy tone.

“Stop laughing, it hurts!” The door swung open, Cas half balancing on the door while he attempted to cradle his foot. Dean was wrong about Cas probably being in bed – he had showered and shaved, and was wearing the clothes that Dean had laid out for him, soft jeans and a navy t-shirt. With the seven day long beard gone, he looked a good couple of years younger. Of course, the dark hair was still as fluffily unkempt as it would be if he were dragged through a hedge backwards.

Dean ceased his soft chuckling then. “You clean up good,” he breathed.

“Thank you,” replied Castiel, his blue eyes brightening under the praise.

After throwing his bag to the side, Dean transferred Cas's weight onto himself, helping him hobble over to the couch. “Dude, could you milk it any more?”

Cas canted his head confusedly. “You are mistaken, I am not milking anything. There are no cows present _for_ me to milk.”

“I meant that you're overreacting to get me to feel sorry for you. That's what 'milking it' means if there are no cows _present._ ” Dean set him down, and the couch made a whooshing noise as Cas sat down heavily.

“Oh,” Cas earnestly began. “It was not my intention to milk anything, cow or otherwise.” Dean barked out a laugh, sitting down and pulling Cas's foot into his lap.

“Let's examine the damage,” he said, studying the throbbing red little toe. Seriously, he announced, “I'm really sorry, Cas. I think we're gonna have to amputate it.”

“What?” Cas looked stricken with innocent eyes wide and jaw hanging open.

Dean cracked a grin. “Nah, I'm just messin' with you man. But the nail's come off – no biggie. You got a first aid kit anywhere?” Cas pointed him towards the kitchen, before analysing the toe for himself, bringing it so close to his face he went a little cross-eyed. As Dean wandered into the kitchen, wondering which cupboard the kit would be in, he saw the table laid out for two, complete with cheese and bacon hamburgers on Cas's fancy plates. There was even a bottle of his favourite beer.

“Cas,” he croaked. “What's this?”

The other man frowned, then flushed as he realised what Dean was talking about. He eased himself off of the couch, limping into the kitchen as he answered. “A thank you, an apology, and a bribery,” Cas mumbled.

“A what?” Dean softly asked with crinkled eyes and a wide smile. No one had ever cooked for him before; not in his adult life, anyway.

Cas sighed in resignation. “It's stupid, really. You came home later than I expected, but initially when you didn't come back...I thought you had left. Especially after what I said.”

“I wouldn't leave you, Cas,” said Dean gently. “Now explain – the thank you, the apology and the what now?”

At Dean's remark, Cas melted a little. A smile playing on his features, he shuffled closer to Dean. _Shit,_ Dean thought. _Is Cas gonna kiss me right now?_ He wasn't averse to the idea. In fact, he'd thought about it _more_ than once. When Cas's eyelids fluttered as he dreamt, Dean wanted to still them with a kiss. When Cas was in one of his adorably grumpy moods, Dean wanted to kiss that pout right off. And just now, when he'd seen Cas all cleaned up, he'd wanted to stroke the baby-smooth skin of his cheek with a thumb, and dirty him up a whole _other_ way.

But these were just fleeting feelings, and Dean would never act on them. He was happy with the cuddling that he would never admit to and whatever else they were doing. It seemed like it was helping the both of them with their issues, so why ruin a good thing with feelings? _Plus,_ Dean added, _I'm not even gay._ Though sometimes at night, when Cas's arms were wrapped around him in a totally friendly embrace, Dean wondered whether there was such a thing as being 'Cas-sexual'.

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder, still gently smiling at him. Cas leant in, and Dean just let it happen.

Nothing happened, though. He forced an eye open, only to see Cas's shoulder. Dean felt like such an idiot. Cas had put his hand on his shoulder to frickin' _balance,_ and leant in to open the cupboard behind Dean and retrieve the first aid kit. Pushing back on Dean to right himself, Cas sat down on one of the dining room chairs, setting the kit on the table. He looked up at Dean expectantly.

“What, you want me to fix you up?”

“If you wouldn't mind.” Cas wiggled his healthy toes.

“Careful Cas, if I spoil you anymore, you'll be wantin' a bunch of squirrels to sort nuts for ya.” Dean pulled a chair up opposite Cas, hoisting the injured foot onto his lap again.

“Why would I want squirrels to...Oh. It's a reference?” Cas guessed upon the roll of Dean's eyes.

Dean nodded and absentmindedly stroked the underside of Cas's foot, eliciting a squirm. He resisted a smile as he confirmed, “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Roald Dahl. You should read him, sometime. I think you'd like his writing. Well, maybe you'd find some of the comeuppances harsh, but otherwise it's right up your street.”

Cas started to smile, before grimacing and hissing as Dean cleaned the nail-less toe.

“Don't be such a baby,” Dean chastised.

“I resent that statement,” said Castiel with a fold of his arms and a scowl that Dean was endearing to.

Dean wrapped a bandage around the toe, not quite knowing what to do to help the nail grow back. He tied the tiniest of knots with deft fingers, and finished off his handiwork with a kiss. Freezing, Dean realised what he had just done. Figuring he couldn't gauge a reaction from the silence, he slowly met Cas's quizzical gaze.

“Did you just...kiss my toe?”

“Uh...well – _better,_ I kissed it better. That's what you do with babies. And you're bein' a big baby over a stubbed toe, so it's your own fault.” Dean inwardly relaxed a little. Cas didn't seem too mad, and he'd recovered himself pretty well, he thought.

But the incredulity of Cas's expression and tone did not escape Dean. “It's my fault that you kissed my little toe?" he half-asked, tilting his head.

Eager to change the subject, Dean coughed and gestured the burgers that were still on the table. “Let's heat these babies up, shall we?”

“Are you going to kiss them too?” Cas slyly inquired.

Dean glared, and Cas played the 'innocent look' card that worked so well on him.

“Weren't you gonna explain what they were for?” asked Dean as he placed both the burgers on one plate, put them in the microwave and started the timer. Cas followed and leant on the counter, the weight taken off of his foot.

“They were a thank you, an apology, and a bribery. A thank you, because I wanted to show my gratitude for you being here this week, and making sure that I wasn't alone. You have helped me far more than I deserved. An apology, because I have been churlish and selfish, and because I said that I didn't need your help. I thought I didn't need it, but I know that I would be in a worse state if you had not been here. And a bribery because...it would mean a lot to me if you attended the funeral with me.”

_Ding!_

“You want me to go to Anna's funeral? Why? I didn't even know her.”

Cas shifted uncomfortably. “Because I need the support, Dean. The way I am around you – it is a rare occurrence that I am _this_ at ease. Without meaning to be melodramatic, my family abandoned me, and I haven't seen them since. They have a perception of me that I fear I will conform to if you are not there to remind me that I am not their soldier anymore. I am my own person now, but their potential thoughts, words, and actions still trouble me.”

Through Cas's concerns, Dean was placing the burgers on their respective plates, listening, but not responding. He had the chance to help his friend either burn or mend bridges, familial bridges that he was all too well versed in. So why was he hesitating? He could aid Cas in getting rid of his toxic family for good, or he could reconcile them. From what Cas had told him, and from what Cas had uttered in unconsciousness, they were screwed up. But maybe they had changed. Perhaps one of their own dying could make them all see that they were lucky they still had each other.

“Dean?” Cas searched.

He sighed. “Where's the funeral?”

“Michigan.” _Fuck._

Dean swallowed, inwardly wincing. “As in...Michigan, other side of the country, Michigan?”

“...Yes,” Cas slowly said, nodding as suspicion crept over his face.

“How would we get there?” Dean meekly asked, dreading the answer.

Narrowing his eyes, Cas replied, “By airplane, of course.”

“If we took the car, we could leave tomorrow morning, and get there on time, right?”

“Well, yes, but I have already purchased flight tickets, and -”

“Are you sure I can't drive us?”

Cas frowned. “Does this mean that you're coming?”

Dean looked at his friend's face. So full of hope, and hopelessness at the same time. Urging him to go, to take the step, but not judging him if he were to refuse. He sighed.

“I'm comin'.”

“Are you certain?” Practically beaming, Cas fidgeted, his hands restraining themselves from something and his body buzzing with what Dean could only describe as peculiarity.

Rolling his eyes, he closed the gap between them and hugged the guy. They did it all the time when they were sleeping, why not when they were awake, too? “Yeah, I'm certain,” he murmured in Cas's ear. Settling into the warmth of Cas's embrace, Dean allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, he pulled away, coughing slightly to save his masculinity. Dean was the depiction of 'No homo'.

Cas's eyes twinkled. There was that soul-staring gaze again, seeing right into Dean and seeing everything. Once, it had made him uncomfortable, but now, Dean welcomed him in. It was nice to let down his guard, sometimes.

“Shall we eat?”

“Hell yeah I wanna eat. I wanna see if gratitude tastes like bacon.” Dean tucked himself in, placing a napkin in his lap. He had manners, sometimes.

Cas brought the plates to the table, setting Dean's down first. “The bun is flavoured with bribery, I hope you like it.”

“...Did you just make a joke?”

“I believe I did.” They grinned at each other over the table, the silence only disrupted by Dean's moans of approval as he bit into his burger.

* * *

Castiel pulled back the covers to get into bed, and Dean lifted his arm so Cas could settle on his chest.

“Cas?" he quietly said.

“Mmm?”

“What was Anna like?”

Cas adjusted himself so that he was leaning back against his own pillow. Dean didn't see it because of the darkness of the room, but he felt and heard it. He turned on his side, facing Cas through the black that surrounded them. “You don't have to talk about her if you don't want to,” he offered.

“No, it'll help,” Cas said, but Dean had an inkling that he wasn't talking to him. “Anna was...well, she was beautiful. She used to complain that she wasn't as pretty as the other girls, but I would always tell her that she was so beautiful, she was like an angel. Anna the angel. Because that's what we were all named for - angels, and I only believed it possible of her. She had long, red hair, and these round, knowing hazel eyes. She would stand up for what was right, and what she thought was best for me. When the arguments got out of hand, Anna would take me up to the attic, where it was virtually soundproof, and tell me to listen to our hearts beat. I would be worried, because they weren't synchronised, and she would say that no one's heart would ever beat the same with someone else's, unless they were in love.”

“ _But I love you,” his seven year old self said._

 _Anna smiled against his hair. “And I love you, Castiel, but we are not_ in _love, are we?”_

_Castiel scrunched up his nose. “No. That would be odd.”_

“ _So it's okay that our hearts are different. Because it means that we are individuals. No matter what, Castiel, remember that no one can control your heart. And when you are sad or lonely, listen to it, and remember that.”_

“Anna used to say that our family could try and control our minds, but they could not control our hearts. That is the one thing that had stayed with me, all this time. But when she ran away, when I was twelve, that was the only time I forgot it. I let them control me, discipline me. They said it was my fault that she ran away, that she didn't want to baby me anymore, that I was too much for _anyone_ to handle, let alone her. So I believed them. It was only when she started sending the letters that I remembered it again. She sent them addressed to the previous owner of the house: Jimmy Novak. We got letters for him all the time, but never handwritten ones. I recognised her hand straight away – we would write notes to each other when my aunt forced 'Quiet Time' on us.

“It explained why she ran away, that she was safe, and the minute she turned eighteen she was coming to get me. But she didn't.” Cas went silent for a while. He'd gone stock still, too, so Dean pulled him back down onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him.

“Thanks for tellin' me, Cas. You didn't have to do that,” he murmured. Cas blinked, his eyelashes tickling his torso.

“That's not all of it,” he yawned. “Can I tell you the rest on another occasion?”

“Sure you can.” Dean started carding his fingers through Cas's hair, stroking it in the hopes that it would lull him to sleep.

Cas made a noise in his throat, croakily proclaiming, “I'm not a cat, Dean.”

“Just as well you're not. I'm allergic.”

“Hmm. That explains the face.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “The face?”

“When I mentioned that I was a cat person, you made a face,” he explained in a sleepy sigh.

“When did that happen?”

It was clear that Cas was dozing off now, his breathing becoming steadier and his body becoming heavier. “When you got drunk the second time.”

Dean vaguely remembered it, but said no more. Cas had a busy few days ahead of him, he needed his beauty sleep. And as Dean dropped off as well, he couldn't help but notice their hearts unfalteringly beating in tandem.

* * *

They were rudely awoken at 6am by the buzzer obnoxiously screeching different rhythms. Cas groaned at the interruption to his sleep while Dean growled, “Shut up!” - but the noise wasn’t stopping.

_Buuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzz_

_Buzz buzz....buzz buzz buzz.....buzzbuzzbuzzbuzzbuzzbuzzuzzbuzz_

_Buzz buzz buzzbuzzbuzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzzbuzz_

“Dean,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s chest.

“What?" he snapped.

“Get the door.”

“You get the door. ‘S your apartment.”

“But you can tell them to leave. I can’t talk to them, my 'people skills' are 'rusty'.” Cas even did limp quotation marks with his fingers for emphasis.

Dean really didn’t want to move. He was comfy, and warm, and sleepy, and Cas smelt nice. Cas tilted his face up to look at him. “Please, Dean? My toe still hurts.” _Ahh crap. Puppy eyes._

He scowled at giving in so easily. “Ugh. Fine. But you’re in charge of keeping the bed warm.” Dean ignored how domestic that sounded, and Cas just hummed, already on his way back to dreamland. Gently pushing Cas off of him, he swung his legs out of bed, the absence of body heat worsening his mood. He slipped on the grey silk robe that he had claimed as his and walked out of the bedroom to where the intercom was situated, just right of the door.

“Fuck off,” he thundered.

“ _Castiel! Really, is that any way to talk to your favourite brother?”_ The voice was way too bouncy and energetic for this time of the morning. The perkiness of it made Dean want to shove a blunt stick in the guy’s chest.

“This isn’t Castiel - Who the fuck is this? And why the fuck are you here at 6 a-fucking-m?”

“ _Ooh, quite the sailor’s mouth you’ve got on you. And if you’d have listened, you’d have heard that I’m Cassie’s brother.”_

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. Cas had like, a shit ton of brothers, how was he supposed to know which of them this early-bird-come-ass-hat was? “Which one are you? And I hate to repeat myself, but why the fuck are you here at 6-a-fucking-m?”

“ _His favourite one, of course!”_ The early-bird-come-ass-hat chirped, his voice shaped around a grin. Dean couldn't help thinking about how the guy's voice would be shaped around his fist soon if he didn't tone down the volume ( _at fucking fuck 6 fucking a-fucking-m no fucking less_ ). ” _You are...?”_

“Dean. Also known as: none of your fucking business until you tell me -”

“ _Yeah yeah, I get the picture, you’ve got a big dick, yadda yadda yadda. Name’s Gabriel, and I’m here to see how my little bro’s getting on.”_

“At 6am?" he grunted in disbelief. Dean knew that Cas's brothers had their quirks, but this was taking a quirk to a whole new level.

“ _You say that like it’s a bad thing! So, where is my brother? Too fucked out to buzz his big brother up?”_

Dean heard noises bouncing around his throat and rolling off his tongue while his mouth unsuccessfully tried to make words out of them until he finally managed an almost coherent sentence or five. “Uh - what?! No! We’re not - We’re just...it’s not like that!”

“ _Oh, okay. You two are just having a slumber party, gossiping about boys and make up. Right? Anyway. Buzz me up.”_

“Look, Cas is asleep, and I don’t wanna -”

“ _Buzz me up! He’ll want to see me, I promise.”_

Dean narrowed his eyes. Gabriel was the only one other than Anna that Cas spoke to. Maybe it wouldn’t do him harm to see one member of his family before the funeral. Reluctantly and no doubt regretfully, he pressed the ‘Unlock Door’ button, and went back into the bedroom to wake Castiel up.

“Cas?" he tentatively whispered, keeping his distance for the moment. Cas was _not_ a morning person, and while Dean lashed out with 'fuck's interlacing his every other word, Cas would hog covers and even wrap them around himself as he pushed Dean away in favour of coffee.

“Go away. I’m sleeping.” Cas pulled the covers over his head.

“It’s your brother,” Dean told him as he put a knee on the bed to wrestle the duvet away from Cas’s face, hovering over the sleepyheaded man.

Castiel stopped his weak defences when he heard that, and forced his bleary eyes open. “Which one?" he warily asked.

“Gabriel. I buzzed him up.”

“Dean!”

“He’s one of the good guys, isn’t he?” Dean remarked, a little apprehensively. He really hoped he had got this right.

Cas rolled his eyes and pouted. “Yes, but it’s six in the morning! I was having a pleasant dream. Gabriel can wait.”

He really was having a pleasant dream. It was the first time he’d had one in a while. In the past week, he had never once woken up wanting to go back to sleep. They had all been distorted memories of Anna, visions he had conjured up from what his aunt had told him. _You made her run away, Castiel, it was you who drove her away._

But this one...Oh, this one was much different. At first, he didn’t even know it was a dream, but it was obvious, now that he thought about it. It was one of those scenes that could only happen and be so perfect in a dream.

_He and Dean were laying in his bed, basking in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. It was just like any other morning from the last week, except that Dean had chosen to stay under the covers for a while instead of trying the coax Castiel out of his room with the smell of breakfast. Dean turned on his side to face him, and Cas mirrored his actions. Slowly but surely, Dean started to wriggle closer to him, closing the space between them. Cas let him, doing nothing but adoring the shy look in his beautiful green eyes. But amongst the shyness, there was also fear, so Castiel did something his conscious self would never do – he tilted his face to meet Dean's, and pressed a soft kiss to his plush lips._

_Dean immediately responded, making the kiss firmer to prove his eagerness. He brought a hand to Cas's ass, squeezing it, then trailing his fingers underneath Cas's t-shirt against his lower back, crushing their hips together. Cas reacted to the long-absent pelvic stimuli by moaning into Dean's mouth and rolling on top of him, grinding his hardened cock on where he felt Dean's own. He ran his fingers through the man underneath's hair, stroking and pulling it. Dean broke their kiss to tip his head back and moan at the new feeling, his hips undulating to meet Castiel's._

“ _Cas, oh God...Cas, I -”_

“ _Shh, I know.” Castiel started rubbing their lengths together faster, and just when he was about to add a hand into the mix, he heard a distant voice calling his name._

“ _Cas...Cas...-”_

“- Cas?”

And now Gabriel was here. Great. Cas wanted nothing more than to sleep in and cherish the cuddles of Dean, but his brother had to ruin it.

“Gabriel can wait.”

“No he can't,” Dean chucked the fluffy robe at his face as he tried to bury himself in the duvet once more. “I buzzed him up. Too late. So get your ass up and try to smile.”

“That's easy for you to say, Dean, he's not your brother,” he grumbled, getting out of bed and cocooning himself in the comfort of his dressing gown. Dean just gave him a stern look, so different to the shy one in his dream, and waltzed out of the room to open the door for Gabriel. Castiel begrudgingly followed.

Gabriel flounced into the living room, eliciting an irritated grunt from Dean. “Hey Castiel! Or is it 'Cas' now?" he asked, shooting a wink at Dean, who grunted in a more threatening way this time.

“'Castiel' is fine. What are you doing here? I was sleeping.” He and Dean were standing flush against each other's sides, still not wanting to part at this time of morning. Gabriel gave them and their stormy stances a once over before treading a little lighter than he normally would have.

“I know, you're grumpy, and you want to get back to snuggling with hot stuff here, but why can't I say hi to my little bro whenever I want?” Castiel suddenly noticed the large suitcase out in the hall.

Dean rolled his eyes, stepping forward so his and Cas's feet were overlapping. “Because it's 6am, dickwad. You can come back later if you wanna see Cas.”

“He's protective, this one, isn't he?” Gabriel looked past Dean to his little brother, not knowing whether to be worried for him or impressed that he had snagged such a manly man. “So! Dean, was it?”

“Yeah,” he gruffly replied.

“How long have you two been...” Castiel looked on in horror as his brother took on a lewd expression and started to make obscene gestures. Dean went red, with embarrassment or anger, no one knew.

Cas started to flounder. “I...We don't...It's not like – Dean and I, we're -”

“Yeah, Dean said pretty much the same thing, di'n't'cha, Dean-o? Doesn't explain why he's wearin' your fancy robe, though, does it Cassie?" He waggled his eyebrows. But quicker than he had barged in, Gabriel suddenly turned serious, all the amusement in his eyes gone, and Cas could see that the past week had not only affected him alone. “Dean, could you take my suitcase into the spare room and stay put for a while? I need to talk to my brother - in private.”

Dean eyed Cas with worry, conversing silently with his eyes: _You gonna be okay?_

Castiel nodded almost imperceptibly, hoping that and a blink would convey his reply of: _Yes. I can handle my brother. I will call for you if I need you._

With a dubious glare in Gabriel's direction, Dean did as he was asked and lugged the suitcase into the spare room, leaving the brothers to it. Castiel flopped down on the couch, wrapping the dressing gown around himself even more. Gabriel followed his brother's lead, and sat on the chair situated a knight's movement away from the couch.

“So...the funeral's in a couple of days. I thought I could stay with you, get the same flight.” Gabriel was trying to get Cas to meet his eyes. This was just like when they were younger, and Castiel had been bullied by the others to the point of unresponsiveness.

Castiel gave a tiny shrug, the motion seeming stunted even in its small form. “You are welcome to.”

“You and Dean...You're really not -”

“No,” Castiel quickly interrupted. “We are friends. Nothing more.” His brother couldn't help but note an edge of wistfulness in his voice.

“Okay. I believe you,” he pacified. Gabriel began in a lower, graver tone, “I'm sorry about Anna.”

Another mechanical shrug. “It's not your fault.”

“I know, Castiel,” Gabriel sighed. “It's what you say to people. I don't know. What am I supposed to say? That we got out, and she didn't, and if I'd have helped her out more, she would still be alive? That I could have stopped them? That _you_ could have, with all your problems?” Castiel stared hard at him then, the first time he had so much as looked at him since they sat down.

“Sorry, but it's true. Look, Castiel – don't you even want to know how? You didn't let me explain on the phone, and you haven't been answering since. Do you blame me for coming here? I wanted to make sure that you hadn't...you know.”

Castiel snapped. “Tried to follow in my big sister's footsteps, as I always have done? No. Dean prevented me from even feeling like I could do that. And no – I don't want to know how. I do not want my memory of her marred by my imagination.”

His brother nodded knowingly, the sun long set in his golden eyes. Castiel wondered if the light had gone out of them when he learnt of how their sister had died. He was adamant in his ignorance of it. The less he knew, the less the nightmares could form around the facts, and not just speculation. It was always comforting that he knew the dead Annas in his nightmares were figments of his imagination, and if he were to have that comfort taken away, then Dean's silent consolations wouldn't be enough any more. They were barely working as it was, but Cas was trying his best not to lose sight of the candle lighting his way through an endless, stormy black night, and was trying to protect the candle from being blown out by the winds of his despair.

Castiel didn't want the light to go out of his eyes, too. Even though he was fairly sure they were dulled, there was still hope, and hope came in the form of references he didn't get, refused breakfasts he was cooked, and resonating tuneful hums that floated through his nightmares and lulled him.

“If you're sure.” Gabriel broke through this thoughts, alerting him to their surroundings. There was a silence between the brothers, a natural one, given the mood of their conversation, but it was interrupted by a muffled voice.

“Uhh...Can I come out now?”

The apprehensive tone made Gabriel smirk, before he called, “Sure!” and Dean slowly walked out of the spare room and threw himself on the couch next to Cas.

“Can we go back to sleep now?" he murmured, just loud enough for Cas to hear. Castiel's lips twitched a silent, 'Yes,' and Dean sleepily smiled back at him.

Gabriel retched. “You two are disgusting. I'm going to unpack.” With that, he trounced away, leaving the other two to their own devices. Castiel stood, taking Dean's hand with him as he had done so many times in the last week when he wanted and needed company. He pulled him back into the bedroom and they quickly fell back to sleep, limbs entangled, and unknowingly enamoured with each other.


	7. Someone Who Stood By Your Side

They awoke naturally within minutes of each other; Dean first as usual, then Castiel shortly following. A contented sigh alerted Dean to his friend's wakefulness. “Morning,” he yawned. Cas removed a hand from Dean's chest and gently took his left wrist, turning it so he could see the face of the black watch that Dean always wore.

“Afternoon,” he corrected, replacing his hand once more, pulling Dean closer into his chest. Dean relaxed into the hold. He had long given up his 'I'm not a cuddler' act, instead embracing the warm hugs and sometimes even initiating them.

Dean muttered, “Smart ass...” but judging by Cas rubbing an itchy nose into the dip in his shoulder, he wasn't too offended. He made a mental note to lightly insult Cas a little less fondly next time.

Cas hummed and lazily tickled Dean's belly. Dean squirmed and laced his fingers through the other man's to put a halt to his deft touches. It felt good, and he couldn't be having any of that, not with the erection he was currently sporting. Cas sleepily smiled against the back of his neck, and he couldn't help but think that those lips curving on his skin gave him a bigger rush than the tummy tickling. Dean was sure that Cas didn't know what he was doing - his guard was always at its lowest when he had just woken up.

“I'm going in to work today,” Castiel stated.

Dean yawned again and rubbed a thumb over Cas's knuckles. “How come?”

“I need to...organise things.” It was a weak excuse and Cas knew it, but he wanted to try and get himself back to normality before the funeral. He didn't want his first experience of being back out in the real world and not in the comfort of his own home to be in a crowded airport, which would no doubt cause him a large amount of anxiety.

“But I got you three weeks off!” Dean protested, craning his head round enough so that Cas could see he that was frowning.

Cas sighed, making the man he was casually spooning shudder with the sudden coolness that passed over his neck. “I know, and I am very grateful, but I feel useless, listless. I think I need to spend time out of the apartment.”

There was a natural pause, in which Dean silently agreed with him. “You gonna be okay? You haven't left in at least a week.” Worry adorned his voice and features, and he was glad that Cas couldn't see this more vulnerable, caring side.

“I think I'll manage,” Cas said, his words not describing the lift in his heart when he heard the care in his friend's voice. Taking it as a cue to get closer, he rested his chin on Dean's shoulder and purred mischievously in his ear, “You on the other hand...”

Oh god. He was practically cheek to cheek to Castiel. If Dean were to cant his head up ever so slightly, he'd be able to feel the scratch of stubble on his own. He'd never had stubble burn. What did it feel like? What would it feel like if Cas were to rub his cheek on Dean's sensitive nipples? _Oh-ho-okay there buddy, back to whatever Cas is talking about..._ “ What? What about me?”

“You get to entertain my brother.” With that, Cas abandoned the bed and jumped into the en suite, swiftly locking the door behind him and leaving Dean shivering with the loss of additional body heat.

“Cas!” he whined towards the sound of the shower starting. “Hmmph.” Dean pulled the sheets up to his neck, smelling Cas on them. Finally, he was starting to admit to himself that these... _passing thoughts_ he kept having about Cas weren't just passing. They were constant, and anything and everything could set them off. Like these sheets, right now, and the sound of the water running. The droplets were probably cascading over Cas's lean body, making their way from his near-hairless chest to his belly button and getting caught in his dark happy trail. God, he envied them right now.

Dean peered over to the pile of clothes he left on the floor last night, trying to find one particular item among them. Luckily, Cas didn't mind too much about his slobbish habits, even if he did neatly fold his own garments at the end of the day if he'd managed to find the will to get dressed. _Ahh. There._ Dean couldn't believe he was about to do this, but desperate times and all… He hadn't done this since he was a teenager, but he didn't want to let Cas know what he'd been doing, and in  _his bed_ of all places. Reaching an arm into the cold outside his snug wrap, he grabbed a sock and hurriedly shoved it under the covers to insert his dick in it. Taking another sniff of the covers, Dean closed his eyes with the slight high Castiel's scent gave him.

Pumping his hand up and down his sock-covered cock, he revelled in the pleasure, stifling a moan. It had been too long since he had jerked off, and being around Cas and his quirks made it harder. Literally, some of the time. Trailing a hand up his body, he took the time to lightly circle a nipple before clasping his hand over his mouth. Hopefully the noise of the beating water would cover up the now-muffled sounds of his masturbation. Dean closed his eyes, picturing Cas hovering over him, with his hand twisting around the head, peppering kisses on his neck. He did always like his neck being kissed, but the women he'd been with rarely took the time to find out what made him tick. Not that he had done with them, of course.

The shower stopped. _Shit._ Dean had about a minute to finish. And it was no question that he _would_ finish - he was too far gone to stop. God, what if Cas saw him like this? All needy, aroused and dying to come? What would Cas do? Dean tugged faster, the soft cotton of the sock heavily contrasting the feel of his rock hard cock. He imagined Cas slowly walking over to him, blue eyes turned dark, and taking the sock off only to replace it with his mouth, and -

“Ah!” That did it. He just about restrained himself from bucking his hips into his hand, and quickly pulled the sock off once he finished spurting into it. Dean took a breath to calm the shiver and twitch of his body. He needed that release. He half-heartedly threw the sock into the washing bin in the corner of Cas's room, confident that his come wouldn't seep out of it and onto something else in there. Dean almost got hard again thinking about _that_ happening, though - Castiel wearing a shirt that once had a few drops of his come on it... but that was a thought for another time.

He just had enough time to collect himself before the bathroom door opened and Cas emerged from the steam, towel slung around his hips. Dean let his gaze linger for a moment too long, unconsciously licking his lips at the sight of a bead of water trailing down past Cas's hips.

“That was quick,” he commented, stretching and clasping his hands behind his head. Dean may or may not have been peacocking when he let the covers reveal his toned torso.

“I wish to be at work for the minimal amount of time. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can leave.” Cas was awkwardly standing, super conscious that he was still in his towel.

“Oh,” Dean said. Obviously he was waiting to get changed. “Do you want me to...?" He pointed at himself, then spun the finger around and gestured to the wall. After some consternation on Cas's part, Cas realised what Dean was trying to say.

“Yes please.” Dean turned to face to window, leaving Cas with nothing but the sight of his back. Suddenly, the shame of what he had just done hit him. He was perverted, whacking off in his friend's bed. It didn't matter that Castiel was the closest person to him (even if he'd known him little more than a fortnight), or that they shared said bed, or that he had feelings for Cas. Dean was disgusting. Who did that? What kind of friend did that? If Cas knew what he had done, he'd be thrown out immediately. Everything that had happened between them would be considered null and void, all because Dean couldn't control himself. How deep did these feelings run? Dean didn't want to think about it.

He shifted so that he was face down on the bed and said into the pillow, “'M sorry.”

Castiel just about heard Dean's almost-unintelligible mumble. “For what?" he asked, pulling his underwear on.

Dean lifted his head, eyes screwed shut, so Cas could hear him better. “For bein' a shitty friend.”

Buttoning his shirt, Castiel stared at Dean, aghast. What had brought this on? Dean had been fine before - tired but playful, and he hadn't jumped out of bed in horror when Castiel had gotten closer than usual, lightly tickling his stomach and pulling Dean back against his chest.

If anyone was the shitty friend, it was Cas. It was as if he was trying to see how far he could go without actually kissing Dean. However, it was getting progressively more difficult. It was so tempting to kiss the back of his neck earlier, but he had just smiled against it instead and inconspicuously inhaled the smell that was so _Dean._ He'd had to take a cold shower to purge himself of the thoughts he was having about one of his only friends.

Maybe it was that he didn't have to look after Cas as much anymore? It was a long shot, but perhaps Dean felt as though he wasn't doing enough for Castiel. Sure, Dean's bedside manner was unconventional, but it had worked, hadn't it? Cas was almost feeling prepared for the funeral, something that would not have happened if not for Dean. But of course, he did have his lower points in the week, if that were even possible, when he felt as though he was taking advantage of Dean's caring nature. So why was Dean the shitty friend?

Castiel was getting to the bottom of this. It was time for him to stop wallowing for a while and listen to his friend. He wanted to make it better for Dean, as Dean had done for him, so he sat down on the bed, placed a pillow in his lap, and shuffled a little closer to where Dean was face down.

“Why do you think that you are a 'shitty friend'?” Cas patiently asked. No reply. He rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“Dean?”

“It sounds weird when you curse,” Dean mumbled, turning to lay on his back and avoiding Cas's gaze by staring at the ceiling.

Not batting an eyelid, Cas replied, “Don't deflect the question.”

“I'm not! Can't we just leave it at that? I’m a shitty friend, and that's it. Forget why.” He tried to stare down Cas in his defiance, but Dean could not match the ferocity in his eyes.

“No, we can't forget why. But I suppose you're right. Without you being such a _shitty friend_ this week, I would be considerably worse right now. No one else would have stayed with me, fed me, or forced me to shower. Yes, Dean, I suppose if you had not been as much of a shitty friend to me, my brother would have arrived this morning to find me in a similar state to my sister's.”

Dean's whole face changed in a heartbeat, his walls of defence practically bulldozed down to reveal an expression akin to heartbreak.

“Don't you talk like that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Dean sat up so he was level with Cas, and his hands floundered so much before settling in his lap that Cas momentarily thought that Dean was going to cup the side of his face. _Wishful thinking._

“It's dramatic, I know, but...it's true.” Cas's eyes blazed into Dean's own concern-ridden ones.

Dean couldn't help himself – he had to touch Cas in some way, any way, and the light rub of their shoulders wasn't cutting it. So he went for the safe, familiar option: Cas's hand. He inched his own towards it, skirting over the pillow on Cas's lap and threading their fingers together. They both watched the tentative contact, hardly believing that their hands would do what their lips would not, and their eyes met once more to search for like-mindedness in the other’s. Gentle smiles were exchanged before Cas swallowed and softly began:

“I think...I think that you are the best thing to happen to me. So...thank you.” Dean's heart swelled with a burst of...profundity. He wasn't ready for the other word yet.

“If you hadn't have happened to me, then I wouldn't be here right now. So _I_ should be thanking _you._ ”

There was a sharp intake of breath on Cas's part, and he unconsciously squeezed Dean's hand tighter as his eyes flicked from Dean's eyes to his mouth when he caught Dean's gaze upon his pale pink lips. They shyly edged into each other's intimate proximities, practically breathing the other's air. Dean's lids fluttered shut so that his eyelashes were resting on his cheeks, and Castiel's followed suit.

The door slammed open, and they jumped apart, startled and quietly disappointed.

“Boys! I thought I heard movement.” Gabriel stood in the frame, cheery demeanour shifting to suspicion. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Blushing, Castiel shook his head, whilst Dean burst, “Would it kill you to knock?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “So I was interrupting something?”

“No,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his face. _Yes._

“If you say so, Dean-o,” sang Gabriel, grinning at his own rhyme. “Anyway, I just came to see if you boys wanted breakfast. I make mean pancakes!”

Their stony replies came in the form of, 'No thank you, Gabriel,’ and 'No,’ coupled with more blushes and more scowls. Shrugging, Gabriel went to shut the door, before poking his head through the crack at the last second and saucily saying with a vulgar smirk, “By the way, Cassie, you might wanna put some pants on.”

Cas glanced down to his bare legs in horror. He had forgotten to put his trousers on before reassuring Dean, and the pillow he held over his crotch only made the whole situation look _worse_. His face contorted with worry as he glanced to Dean, who looked as though he had just noticed Cas's lack of pants too. To Castiel's amazement, Dean started to laugh, setting him off. Any embarrassment they had regarding the almost-kiss had dissipated, but it wasn't forgotten.

* * *

Cas ignored the stares of surprise and pity as he walked through the workers of his floor to his office. Some had offered condolences as he passed, a few had given understanding nods, and Meg had offered her company 'if he ever needed it'. Tight lipped, he had politely declined. But standing guard outside his office door, preventing any entry, was his assistant.

“Mr Milton! You're not supposed to be here for another two weeks!” Alfie's panicked eyes oddly relaxed him. It was good to have a little normality back.

Putting on his best 'boss' face, Castiel curtly replied, “I need to organise a few files.”

Alfie didn't move from his position. “Already done, sir.”

“Then I need to check my messages and get back to our clients.”

“They've been taken care of, sir.” His tone matched the brusque one of his superior.

A little frustrated, Castiel had to find _something_ he could do. That was the whole point of getting out – to get used to the real world again. “I have meetings that I need to -”

“Not for another two weeks. They have been reorganised.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Who has coordinated all of this, may I ask?”

He shuffled awkwardly, but did not let up from his strong stance. “Um, mainly me sir. I made sure your leave was approved, and I have redistributed your work over the office floor.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, slightly stunned. “Thank you, Alfie.”

“There's no need to thank _me_ , sir,” his assistant modestly waved off.

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowned.

Alfie looked shifty, like he had a secret he wasn't sure he was meant to tell - and Castiel was surprised to learn that his readings of his assistant were correct when Alfie lost the battle with himself, sighed and confessed, “When your leave was organised, Mr Winchester...personally persuaded any member of staff who disagreed with our idea of sharing your work load.”

“Personally persuaded?”

“If I had less sense, I would use the word 'threatened', sir,” Alfie said with a glint in his eye.

Castiel held back a smile. The idea of Dean threatening his colleagues was more than amusing, and he imagined that most of them didn't know what had hit them.

Alfie cleared his throat, and ventured, “May I speak out of turn, sir?”

Intrigued, Castiel answered, “You may,”

“I prefer him to your other friend...Balthazar, was it? Dean's a keeper.”

Castiel went to speak, but was cut off by his assistant's quick switch back to office talk. “There are some files on your desk that need approval. Otherwise, there is nothing for you to do here.” Alfie stood down and went to walk away before his face turned sombre, and he lowly added, “Oh, and by the way sir - my thoughts and prayers are with your family.”

Castiel halted his leaving by calling after him. “When I return to work in two weeks, I will see to it that you receive a pay rise.”

Alfie was speechless, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. “Oh, I – Sir, thank you!”

Castiel simply nodded, and entered his office. He let out a of breath of relief at the sight of its state. Everything was as it had been when he had left, give or take a few papers, and in relief he sat down in his desk chair to take a few moments to collect himself. The walk from the car park to his building had been trying at best, and even making his way up to his floor was difficult. Passersby had bumped into him with little care and no apology, and their security staff had been ruder than usual. Castiel didn't even have the luxury of having the elevator to himself.

But now that he was alone, and not concentrating on the road or how he was going to survive the crowded elevator, his mind supplied him with ample thought:

If Gabriel hadn't have barged into his room, he and Dean would have kissed. Maybe he would have confessed his non-platonic, more than profound _(why did he ever call it profound, anyway?)_ feelings for Dean in that kiss, and maybe he wouldn't be here, in work. They'd be in bed still, Castiel exploring places on Dean's body that he wouldn't have dared to venture this morning. He wondered where Dean was most sensitive. Cas already knew that his stomach was ticklish, but what about the underside of Dean's buttocks, where cheek met thigh?

There was no point in wondering anyway. They might have almost kissed once, but there was a rare possibility of them finishing what they started. They had just been caught up in the moment, that's all.

Castiel wished for a thousand more moments, only if just for the chance that they would kiss in one of them.

* * *

Keen to avoid Gabriel and his no doubt incessant suggestive questions, Dean opted to stay in Cas's room. Was this all a weird dream? He'd jacked off in Cas's bed, and then when he'd tried to apologise without divulging any information as to what he was apologising _for_ , they'd nearly kissed.

He still felt guilty for the whole jerking off thing, though, but bringing it up would be a bad idea, so he resolved to forget about it.

Castiel’s room was too quiet without the usual occupant to keep him company, and the bed and the smell just reminded him of the incident he had totally forgotten about. On to the incident he _hadn’t_ forgotten about, though - if Cas was going in for the kiss too, did that mean he felt the same as Dean? And if he did, was Dean ready for a relationship? Because there was no question that they would enter a relationship. You don’t stick around to help a guy through his bereavement, sleep with him and say, ‘See ya!’.

And if Dean could barely love himself, how could he love anyone else? What if their feelings fucked up their weird friendship thing? There were too many questions for Dean to handle at present, so he distracted himself by having a shower in the regular bathroom, bathing in its damn inferior water pressure. When he finished, he slipped his arms into his robe and padded back to Cas’s room, drying his hair with his towel and resolutely ignoring Gabriel and whatever he was doing.

“Hey, Flo!” Gabriel called as he walked past. “I see you’re reaffirming your totally hetero friendship with my little bro by wearing his bathrobe.”

Dean almost stumbled in surprise, and definitely stumbled over his words (something he _had_ to stop doing. It was embarrassing). “Flo? What - huh? And... _you’re_ reaffirming...your...face!”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Great comeback, Flo.”

“It’s _Dean_ , you ass.”

“Oh come on! Flo? Florence...? As in...Nightingale?” Gabriel nodded as he attempted his explanation, urging Dean to understand his joke.

Dean stared blankly at him, nodding along until he gave in and shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Oh, you will. You will...” He wouldn’t have been surprised if Gabriel broke out into maniacal laughter. Dean grunted, and went to carry on into his - no, _Cas’s_ room, but Gabriel halted him _yet again_.

“Dean-o, wait a sec!”

He turned around with his teeth bared and his eyes murderous. “What is it?”

“Can you tell my brother that he has to write a eulogy for Anna’s funeral?”

Dean was very nearly outraged. Gabriel obviously had _no_ idea of the effect that their sister's death had had on Cas. No way was he in the right state of mind to _say_ the eulogy, let alone write it. “No. And in fact, you know what? _You're_ gonna tell him that you're gonna write it.”

“Now why would I do that?” came Gabriel's questioning drawl.

“Because,” Dean started, trying to hold back the many threats that came to mind, “Cas is barely in the right state to _attend_ this damn funeral, and I don't wanna see him hurt more than he is right now. He's not getting told he's writing it, by you or me, he's not gonna write it, and he's sure as hell not gonna get up there in front of his family and say it, okay?”

“Whatever you say, _Dean_ ,” Gabriel dryly remarked. Dean could sense that this conversation wasn't over, that Gabriel wouldn't forget this, but he didn't care. He made a dismissive noise and went back into Cas's room to put on some clothes.

He checked his phone for the time to try and get an idea of how long Cas had been gone (just over an hour and fifteen minutes), but he found that he had received a text while he was in the shower.

_**Castiel:** _  
_**I heard that you 'personally persuaded' members of staff to take on my work while I was on leave. I do not know whether to thank you because it was truly the most extraordinary thing anyone has ever done for me, or to thank you in the hopes that you do not 'personally persuade' the gratitude out of me.** _

A goofy grin spread over Dean's face, his thumbs hovering over the keypad of his cell while he thought of a reply.

**Dean:**  
 **did that alfie kid tell you that? man, he's adorable. wants to help out his boss in any way he can. not that i blame him, you're kinda awesome. you should give him a raise, if you can do that. and you can thank me because you want to, not because you're scared of me. as if i'd ever hurt you. :-)**

Dean was never really much of one for emoticons, but he felt like Cas needed to see the smile in some way. Just from that one text, his bad mood had lifted, and his head felt fuzzy with endorphins. Eager to find out when he could emerge from the bedroom without being riled up, he sent another text.

**Dean:**  
 **when you home?**

He told himself that he meant _Castiel's_ home, not their home. Although Dean had made himself at home, that didn't qualify as actually having a home at Cas's place. But he'd hardly call his own apartment home, no. That was just a living space.

_**Castiel:** _  
_**I already informed Alfie that he would be getting a raise as soon as I returned. I thank you then, for everything you did for me at work. You didn't have to. And I know better than to be scared of you, Dean. I should be home in half an hour or so.** _

Only half an hour. Dean could deal with that, right? He could probably cook some lunch for them, Gabriel begrudgingly included. Quickly darting into the kitchen, he began to prepare something he'd wanted to try all week, when he was scouring the internet for recipes for food that might entice Cas out of his bed. Plus, glazed bacon-wrapped meatloaf with cheesy mashed potatoes wasn't exactly going to be a chore for him to eat. They all needed their strength for the upcoming few days, and Dean anticipated that this would be a decent meal to build their strength on.

* * *

 As Cas walked down the hall to his apartment, he sniffed a few times, intrigued. Someone was cooking something glorious, going by the meaty smell wafting through the air. There was definitely bacon in there, and onions, and a little parsley. Whoever was going to eat it was a lucky person, a very lucky person indeed. He had forgotten to grab breakfast and had rushed to get back, so had no time to get any street food. Cas had a strange feeling about leaving Dean with his brother, though it could have been the immense hunger that had enveloped his being.

The smell got stronger as he turned his key in the lock, and so did Castiel’s excitement. His eyes lit up as he realised that it was coming from _his_ apartment, in _his_ kitchen, and a boy-like smile took over his features. Dean rounded the corner out of the kitchen to greet him, tea towel in hand.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean looked so proud of himself. His lips were twitching as though they were barely containing a smile, and the sun was shining through the forest green of his eyes more than ever. Castiel wanted to savour this moment forever. The smell of the food Dean was cooking, the picture of Dean standing taller than he had ever seen him, and the feeling that it all gave him; it was almost euphoric. So euphoric, and _foreign_ , that laughter bubbled out of him, surprising the both of them.

Dean laughed a little too, before his face fell and he cursed, rushing back into the kitchen. Curiously, Castiel followed.

“Is everything alright?" he enquired.

Dean was hurriedly plonking peeled and chopped potatoes into a saucepan. “Yeah, I was about to put these on when I heard you come in, and then I got distracted. And I wanted to mash the potatoes before I took the meatloaf out.”

“We’re having meatloaf?”

Dean spun round with a wolfish grin. “ _Bacon-wrapped_ meatloaf.”

“Well, it smells delicious,” he honestly stated.

“Thank you,” Dean replied. His expression was...contrasting, upon hearing the compliment. Most of it was cocksure, like he knew how good it smelt, but his eyes were soft and happy knowing that Cas liked it.

He served up soon after, the forty five minutes flying by with Cas in the kitchen with him. Usually, Dean would hang around checking the food and washing up, but for the first time, Castiel was here with him. Cas told him about his work, Dean gave him an exaggerated telling of the threats he gave the staff and Gabriel wandered in and out, complaining of his empty stomach despite eating a whole stack of pancakes a few hours ago.

The meatloaf went down better than anything else he had cooked, but mostly Dean was just glad that Cas had his appetite back. He liked to think that it was because of him throwing Cas in the shower. Showers could wake people up in many ways. And he was right - once Cas was washed the dried sweat (amongst other things) from his body, he felt more alert, like he could take on the world as a clean man. That’s not to say he wasn’t still grieving, though. He was still riding the line between denial and acceptance. However, the ride was made rockier when Gabriel decided that small talk wasn’t for the dinner table.

“Cas,“ he started, jarring his brother with the way the name sounded in his mouth. It was strange when Dean wasn’t the one saying it. “A eulogy needs to be said at the funeral. I don’t think any of the others are going to, ‘cause of the way she...well, you know. Well, you don’t, but the point is: You knew her best, so I think you should do it.”

Castiel froze with his knife and fork in mid air. “Write...a eulogy?”

“And say it, yeah,” Gabriel solemnly replied.

“No,” said Dean firmly at the same time Cas answered, “Alright.” Dean couldn’t hide his surprised and worried reaction.

“Cas, are you sure? I mean -”

His sentence was halted with a collected look and a slight hand wave. “I know, but I think this will help. I will write it tonight.”

The rest of the lunch was eaten in silence, save for a few appreciative moans.

* * *

"Go to sleep."

"One final check, then I'll turn out the light."

"Cas, we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you've not exactly been the energiser bunny recently."

"I know, I know. Just one more. Please."

Dean sighed. "Fine. Want me to look over it?"

"No."

“Okay, I get it. It's personal.” But they really did need to sleep soon. Dean had made a schedule, and he planned to stick by it, as the predictability of the day would then cancel out the unpredictability of the flight. Man, he hated planes, despite never being on one, and he'd even written the schedule out as his father had taught him, in military hours. His father had served as a marine in Vietnam, and had drilled some of the service into his sons. Even though he'd tried to shake most of his father off, some of his teachings still held irritatingly true and as Cas read over Anna's eulogy once more, he read over his schedule.

_**0330 Wake up.** _  
_**0415 Leave.** _  
_**0815 Arrive at airport.** _  
_**0900 Successfully check in. Proceed to security.** _  
_**1100 Flight departs.** _  
_**1530 Arrive Detroit, MI.** _  
_**1545 Pick up rental car.** _  
_**1630 Arrive at hotel.** _

The funeral was in Sterling Heights, where the Miltons had relocated. When Cas told him that was where they moved, he was aghast. Why would you abandon your nephew when he most needs love and support, and move to the other side of the fucking country? Dean was going to have a hard time playing nice with the Miltons.

There was a shuffle of papers and he could tell that Cas was reading it again. “Oh no you don't,” he said, stretching across and snatching them out of Cas's hands. Cas started to protest, but Dean reached over him to turn off the bedside lamp, neglecting to return to his side of the bed.

“Dean. You're suffocating me,” Cas whispered in a strained voice. He let up a little, budging over a little so he was still preventing movement, but so Cas could breathe more. “Thank you.”

“Shh. Go to sleep.” Dean brought his hand up to Cas's face, patting it to end the conversation. He let it linger there for a while, stroking his cheek and rubbing the stubble. Cas leant into it, running his fingers through Dean's short hair.

Castiel closed his eyes, hoping the five hours of sleep he was going to get was going to be enough. “Goodnight, Dean,” he breathed into the air. Dean smiled against his chest, trailing his hand down to lightly rest on his shoulder.

What seemed like eons ago, he once thought to himself that it would always end with Cas disappearing into the sunset, leaving him behind to deal with the aftermath, but as he drifted off, the sounds of the night cutting in and out of his thoughts, he was certain that _this_ was the only way Cas would leave him; into dreams. But Dean didn't mind so much – they now disappeared into the sunset together, spending their nights together and waiting for the sun to rise.


	8. Who Do You Turn To In Need?

Boarding the plane had been a difficult time for Dean. It had involved a lot of gentle man-handling (from Cas), sarcastic remarks and jokes (from Gabriel), a ton of weird looks (from the other passengers) and eventually coaxing and hand holding (from Cas, naturally). Taking off had been worse, though – he'd been refused any sort of alcohol by Gabriel, who was the credit card holder, and who just wanted to see Dean squirm. He was far too poor to even think about buying his own, so the gruelling, unnatural experience had been spent humming Metallica and holding onto the arm rests for dear life. Even Cas couldn't calm him down all the way, and he damn near wanted to hit something when Gabriel kept popping up over Cas's shoulder, making statistical comments about plane crashes and the like.

Even when they'd been given the all clear to unclasp their seat belts, Dean had chosen to keep it firmly strapped around his middle, tightening it periodically until Cas had taken his hand away from him and cradled it in his own. “It's tight enough. You're safe Dean, I’m here,” he had soothed. And Dean believed him, even though he knew Cas could do nothing if the plane were to crash. But maybe, if the plane started to falter in the air with no hope of repair, Cas would rip open his shirt, revealing a big “S”, and would fly them all to safety. Picturing Cas as Superman solaced him somewhat, so he imagined that for a while. And if his lip quirked at the images, it definitely had nothing to do with the tight, body hugging spandex suit Kal-El wore.

Castiel was having an easier time on the flight, however. He had only flown a few times in his life, and was perfectly comfortable with it. He found peace in soaring through the air, and gazing out of the window. But gazing out of the window was difficult when you had your older brother sitting in the window seat, doing gazing of his own. Gabriel didn't usually look so serene. The whole morning had consisted of Castiel sneaking glances at his brother, to gauge any signs of grief, and he had gotten results. Gabriel may have started the day off with the highly inappropriate comment of 'Let's put the fun back in to funeral!', but he had bought them all new suits at the duty free, much to Dean's chagrin, drawn up an itinerary of his own and had even taken Cas aside to assure him that he would make sure nothing untoward would happen with their family.

He concluded that Gabriel was feeling guilty and was grieving in his own way, so he left him to it and delved into his memories of Dean in a suit. He had looked very refined, even when he was grumbling that he didn't understand why his own suit wasn't good enough.

“Because it's offensive to my eyes and it'll defile the memory of my sister,” Gabriel had quipped, earning a glare from both his brother and the receiver of the insult.

And Castiel had to admit, the one Dean wore out of the changing room was far better; the cut of it giving him a distinguished air, as well as flaunting his excellent figure. He had stiffly nodded, and Dean grinned at the restrained approval. When Dean had shared his doubts about it later, stating that 'he'd just need an umbrella and he'd be The Penguin', Cas had confidently assured him that he looked very handsome, and certainly did not resemble a penguin. He had laughed at that, saying:

“I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.”

If that was true, it made Castiel very sad indeed. He held the man's hand a little tighter, and watched him to be sure that he was breathing properly. Breathing was the key in these situations: in through the nose to the diaphragm, out through the mouth. He had breathed with Dean in the tunnel that led to their plane (“More like the tunnel that leads to our deaths,”), getting him to meet his eyes and follow his lead. Dean had seemed a little calmer after that.

“Please fasten your seatbelt ready for landing.” The gentle voice of the stewardess floated over the speaker, and Dean gripped his hand the hardest he had ever gripped it.

Castiel went to tell Dean to ease off a little, but Dean’s eyes were screwed shut, his face contorted in fear. “ _Cas,_ ” he tried to growl, but whimpered instead. “ _Talk_ to me or some shit, I don’t know. Just...please?”

He nodded, even though Dean couldn’t see him. Racking his brains for something to say, a feeling he had grown accustomed to forgetting around Dean, he blurted, “Once upon a time...um, there was a prince. Dean. Prince Dean.”

Dean let out a shaky laugh, and Castiel continued, glad his random, sudden spout of a made up story was getting results.

“He had a horse. I think its name was...Impala?” Dean nodded. “And Prince Dean rode her all over the country, singing songs he had heard from far off lands. There was...Metallicar -”

“Metallica.”

“Yes, and ABCD -”

“AC/DC.”

“And Led Zeppelin.” Castiel hesitated, waiting for a correction, but it didn’t come. All he received from Dean (whose eyes were now just pleasantly closed, instead of scrunched up) was a patient, small smile.

Now that he’d started, he really had no idea how to carry on the story. What did he go for next? Daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise? Come to think of it, those last ideas sounded an awful lot like something he’d heard when Dean was watching a movie the other day...but he’d run with the last one. “One day, when he was on one of his various rides, he passed a figure jumping in a nearby stream. At first, he thought it was an animal of some sort, trying to catch a fish, but the noises that were coming from it sounded distressed. Prince Dean quickly dismounted and ran to the stream to help the figure.”

The plane started its descent, and Dean’s pleasant expression collapsed, a more fearful one building upon its foundation. “ _Cas,_ ” he breathed warningly, panicked.

“Breathe,” Cas instructed, and when he was satisfied with Dean’s technique, he carried on. “When he was in close proximity to the thrashing figure, the prince realised that it was a man. He dived into the stream - actually, perhaps it was more of a river, they are deeper... -”

Dean hit his arm as the ride got bumpier. “Don’t get all intellectual on me _now_ of all times, just tell the damn story!”

“My apologies. Prince Dean dived into the stream - no, the river, grabbing the man and pulling him out onto the riverbank. He made sure the man was breathing and conscious before saying, ‘What the hell were you doing, man?’”

Castiel’s ‘Prince Dean’ voice was stunted and unnatural, but Dean opened his eyes and laughed in spite of the rapidly approaching ground, crying, “I don’t talk like that!” He got an eyebrow raise for that one, along with a look of judgemental disbelief. He shut his eyes again, nudging Cas to keep going.

“The man said, ‘I was trying to swim, for I cannot,’ and Prince Dean replied, ‘Well that’s stupid, how’re you gonna learn on your own?’ To this, the man haughtily but shyly admitted, ‘Because I have no one to teach me.’ ‘But you coulda drowned without my help!’ the Prince said, raising his voice. Drawing himself up to his full height, the man developed a stormy demeanour.”

“Can I just interject and say that your ‘Dean’ is spot on?” Gabriel piped up.

“ _No_ ,” they both firmly replied simultaneously.

Suddenly the plane swooped up again with the announcement, “We apologise for the inconvenience, but another plane is still in our landing bay. We’ll circle the air, and land shortly. Thank you for your patience.”

Dean shuddered. “Oh God,” he whispered, practically clawing the arm rests. Cas placed his hand over one of Dean’s, keeping it from trembling.

“‘How dare you talk to me like that!’ the man exclaimed. ‘How dare you talk to _me_ like that!” Prince Dean retaliated. ‘Wait...who are you?’ the man asked, confused. The Prince was also confused. ‘I am Prince Dean, of Winchester....Winchesterland. Who are you?’ The man looked startled upon hearing that Dean was a prince, and Prince Dean took comfort in that fact. But amongst the startle, there was also a hint of amusement. ‘I am Prince Castiel, of Miltonia.’ Prince Dean gasped. He could now see the resemblance between the man and the royal family of Miltonia. Only such regality could have such dark hair and blue eyes.”

“Dude, that’s kinda conceited, don’tcha think?” Castiel’s royal blue eyes glinted. He thought Dean had stopped listening for a moment or two.

“‘I’m sorry, Prince Castiel. I didn’t realise,’ Prince Dean apologised. Prince Castiel waved it off. ‘It’s perfectly fine,’ he said. ‘You saved my life, so I suppose I can let you off. I should have known that you were a prince, really. You have all the fine features of a prince, and obviously the heroic tendencies.’”

Castiel spoke faster now, trying to distract Dean from their upcoming jarring landing. He rubbed his thumb along Dean’s fingers, taking the time to make sure it bumped in and out of each of of creases between them. Dean needed an anchor right now - hopefully the story and the feeling would steal his thoughts away from his fears.

“Prince Dean laughed good naturedly at Prince Castiel’s awkward manner and strode over to Impala to get the bag he had hanging from her saddle. He fetched dry clothes for the shivering Prince Castiel and turned his back so that the other prince could get changed with his dignity still intact. When Prince Castiel was dressed, Prince Dean offered him a ride back to Miltonia, promising that nothing bad could come of travelling with a fellow prince. Prince Castiel took him at his word, and mounted Impala, Prince Dean following him up and sitting behind him. He took the reigns, and they rode on to Miltonia.”

“Don’t finish it! Keep going. Chapter two?” Dean whined.

Castiel stared curiously at him. “Dean, we’ve landed.” His eyes flew open.

The stewardess’ voice came over the tannoy one last time. “Thank you for flying with us today, and we hope to see you again soon!”

“What?! But I didn’t - we didn’t - there wasn’t - I can’t believe we landed! We’re alive!” Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and Cas’s, standing and pulling him up for a tight hug. “Son of a bitch, we made it...thanks, Prince Castiel,” he murmured in his ear, making Cas blush a little.

Gabriel stood also, waiting in annoyance for the other two to move. “Seriously you guys? I’m right here. If you don’t move your cuddly asses off this plane in ten seconds, I’m gonna beat them with the huge lollipop I got in the duty free.”

Neither of them doubted the threat, and they quickly made their way out of the plane and into the airport, picking up their luggage and the car they were renting.

* * *

“Man, I’m beat,” Dean sighed as he fell on top of his hotel bed.

Castiel perched on the end of his, a hand rubbing the back of his head. “I believe I am also ‘beat’.”

Shuffling so he faced Cas, Dean eyed the space between their beds. “It’s gonna be weird, huh? Not sharing a bed.”

Cas focused on a spot on the wall just left of Dean’s head before meeting his gaze and saying, “Yes, it will be...weird, to say the least. I have grown quite accustomed to sharing one.”

“Me too,” Dean quietly replied.

A beat of silence passed. “Hey Cas, you know these are queen sized beds, right?”

Castiel squinted for just a second. “...Yes,” he slowly answered.

“That means that they’re big enough to share...if you want to, that is. I mean, we’ll have to squeeze together more than usual, but it’s possible. Do you? Want to, that is?”

Cas let out a whoosh of allayment. “I am very much at ease at sharing a bed with you, Dean, and I would very much like to. It is somewhat of a relief that you asked – I’m...I'm not sure being alone is a good idea for me right now.”

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, knowing that whatever answer he was given, it would not be a positive one. Still, Cas could get it off his chest, and he wouldn't have to smooth the crease between Cas's brow when he slept.

“Awful. My head aches, my back feels as though it needs to...‘click’, but it refuses to, and my muscles are constantly on the verge of cramping.”

Dean knew how that felt, and he knew what he always wanted when he felt like that. “Lie down on your front. I’ll be right back.” Cas gave him an odd look, but Dean stared him down and he complied. Going into the bathroom, Dean fetched a squirty bottle of lotion that he had noticed upon checking the place out.

He pumped the compressor a few times and proceeded to rub his palms together to spread the lotion. “Take your shirt off.”

Cas frowned. “I’m sorry, take my -”

“Take your shirt off. I’m giving you a massage.” He tried to appear as nonchalant as possible about the process of rubbing Cas’s back, shoulders and arms. They looked so strong, and he wanted to soothe the worry out of them - This idea definitely had nothing to do with seeing his friend beneath him, pliable and making happy noises.

Castiel jumped like a startled deer. “What? Why?”

“Relax, dude. What’s a massage between two good friends? I’m just trying to help you out, Cas, you’re tense as hell. You’ll feel better, I promise.” _Please let me do this for you, please, Cas,_ Dean inwardly pleaded.

“I’ve never had a massage,” he shyly confessed.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What, Balthazar never give you one?”

“No, he preferred me tense - he, um, he said the sex was better that way.” Actually, Balthazar always said something along the lines of ‘I like to fuck the tension out of you’, but there was no way Cas was telling Dean that.

Dean felt a surge of jealousy at Cas’s words. “Well, in my experience, you gotta be relaxed to enjoy it properly. Not that we’re about to... _you know_ , but seein’ you like this puts me on edge. So you’re gonna relax, or else.”

“I feel more relaxed already,” Cas sarcastically muttered, unbuttoning his shirt all the same while Dean grinned at how sardonic his friend could be. Shooting a final suspicious glance at Dean, Cas set himself down on his stomach, shifting his head this way and that until he decided on removing one of the pillows.

“Comfy?” Cas nodded into the pillow. “Good.” Dean straddled his ass, putting more weight on his knees. He didn't want Cas to get the wrong idea. Cas lifted his head, presumably to object against the position, but Dean cut him off.

“Ah ah ah, no talking, okay? I’m in charge here, and I say that this is the best way to do it. So deal.” Cas thought better about voicing his opinion and dropped his face into the pillow again. “Good boy,” Dean chuckled, ruffling his hair. _Shit._ Cas's hair was now matted with lotion. He waited for a reaction, but none came. _Phew._

Dragging his palms up and down Cas's back, he applied the lotion. It was oil based, so good enough for the task. Cas shivered a little, but his hands weren't cold, so Dean had no idea what from. He started work on Cas's shoulders, kneading the muscles between the neck and the joint, and Cas tensed up even more at the squeeze.

“Dude, relax a little. I’m not gonna hurt you. I can't make you feel better if you won't let me, so help me out here, okay?”

Castiel took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, relieving most of the tautness in his body. “There ya go, buddy. That's better,” Dean encouraged. He rubbed the heel of his palm in little circles around Cas’s spine, smirking at the groan he drew from him. Soon, Cas would be like putty in his hands (maybe that appealed to him a _little_ ), so he sped the process by rolling his knuckles over Cas’s shoulder blades.

That touch was positively received, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Cas, and experimentally, Dean repeated the action, rolling his knuckles up the shoulder blades, then opening his palms and stroking down them. This time, Castiel moaned.

“You like that, huh?” teased Dean.

“It would...it would appear so,” Cas replied, embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s okay to like things, you know,” Dean said, trailing the back of his fingers up Cas’s sides. “It means you’re human.”

Cas shuddered. “I know, but...it’s strange. Foreign. I’m not sure whether I like liking things.”

“You don’t have to be sure,” he remarked, walking his thumbs up Cas’s spine from the base, “you just have to get used to it.”

“Okay,” said Cas, exhaling shakily. “I can try and do that.” But to avoid any more future embarrassment from Cas, Dean strayed away from the shoulder blade area of his back. This wasn’t meant to make Cas feel self conscious, this was meant to make him feel _good._ So Dean stroked his arms, applying pressure to the biceps and triceps and wondering why they were so prominent for a man who only ever used his arms for picking up phones.

He went back to kneading his back and was pleased to find that most of the tension had dissipated. Cas was making happy little hums, melting under Dean’s hands. Some of the lotion had soaked into Cas’s skin, leaving incredibly soft skin for him to touch, and on that note he decided that this was a good place to stop. Cas was relaxed enough, and if he rubbed Cas down any more, he’d start rutting against him. Not exactly ideal. It was as though Dean had absorbed all of Cas’s pent up nervous energy, leaving him shy and wanting to lean down and kiss Castiel’s neck at the same time.

He stroked Cas’s back one final time, treasuring the feeling of the smooth skin beneath his calloused hands. Sliding off of the bed, he whispered, “How do you feel now?”

“Better...and sleepy,” Cas answered in a mumble, eyes closed and expression blissful. He looked so peaceful, Dean hardly wanted to disrupt it by telling him to move over so they could share.

He carded his fingers through Cas’s hair, scrunching up his face when he got to the sticky part. “Relaxed?” Cas gave a small nod. Before he thought too much about it, Dean pressed a kiss to his temple and quietly crept to his own bed. He wasn’t that tired yet, so read the newspaper left on his nightstand until the longevity of his day caught up with him.

* * *

_The flames licked his mother’s screaming figure, the roar of the fire around him muffling the shouts she was making, but he could make out a few words: “This is your fault.” He knew what he had done, and tried to run through the flames to get to her, but they enveloped him, searing him and bubbling his flesh off. The flames took on an animalistic quality, and they started tearing at whatever skin was left unmarred._

_And then he was lying down, the fire gone but the heat remaining. It made him dizzy and light headed, and when he reached for the glass of water next to him to drink it, it burnt his mouth, steaming as he let out an agonised scream. There was a man walking towards him, so he reached to him, pleading with him to help, but the man’s eyes were black, his lips twisting into a malevolent smirk. He recognised the man, recognised those mirthful eyes and that leer._

“ _Dad?" he choked, reaching out to him still. But his father strapped his arm down, and raised the rack he was lying on until he was almost upright. “Dad, please...”_

“ _I’m not your father,” the man sneered, his eyes clouding from black to yellow. Dean tried to escape his restraints, but found himself bound tighter with his struggle. He looked back up to beg his captor to set him free, but was met with his own black-eyed face jeering at him._

 _Then he_ was _the black-eyed version of himself, mocking the tied up form of himself. So stupid. How could he think he’d ever get free? He looked to his table of instruments, carefully selecting the one that would teach the other Dean a lesson, teach him to stay in his place, to_ know _his place. Unleashing his weapon of torture on the weak body in front of him, he barked an ugly laugh as it whimpered. Again and again he lashed out at him. He deserved it. He was here for a reason, and he was going to goddamn give him hell_ in _Hell. The other Dean was crying at him to stop, but he wouldn't let up, he didn’t even care or feel anything but pride when red rivulets started to run down the other man's body. He swiped a few of the droplets onto his fingers and shoved them down Dean's throat, silencing him._

_But he had to pull his hand out sooner than he wanted to, using both arms to protect his eyes and face from the white light that seemingly came out of nowhere, filling the dark pit in every crevice and virtually blinding him. The light got brighter, almost buzzing with intensity, and he -_

He sat up, his eyes wide and his breath on the verge on hyperventilation. “Dean?” came Cas's low voice, closer than it should be. His head snapped up to find Castiel leaning over him, concern filling his cerulean eyes. Cas's hand cupped the side of his face, fingers curling in the hair behind his ear.

“Why didn't you stay with me? Your sleep is easier when I’m with you,” he softly chided.

Dean nodded, clutching at Cas's pants and the torso still naked and soft from the massage, trying to regain his grip on the real world. “I know, I’m sorry, Cas, I -”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Cas scolded before climbing into bed with him. “We have a few hours before we need to be up, so we can just lay here, if you wish.”

Dean nodded into Cas's collarbone, wrapping his arms around him and keeping him close. The stricture of the embrace had no effect on Castiel, who rested his chin atop Dean's head and rubbed comforting circles into his back. However, they did not seem to be of any help, as Dean was still shivering. Castiel didn't know much about his nightmares, only that they amplified Dean's guilt over his mother and that they cowered in Cas's presence.

“Was it worse than usual?" he tentatively asked. Dean nodded again. “Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head into Castiel's chest, burying his face in the bare skin. “Okay. Do you want me to tell you another story?”

The story worked perfectly earlier, so it should work now, right? Dean stilled for a moment, before nodding once more and resting his head on Cas's shoulder.

“Alright, then. Impala was cantering across one of the many fields of the joined kingdoms, both princes still astride her. Along the edge of the field ran a long fence, and Prince Dean wasn't sure how they would get past. Of course, Impala was a very capable mare, and...”

Castiel continued the tale of the two princes until he heard gentle, sleepy snuffles coming from the man beside him. He looked far more peaceful than when he’d been trying to wake him up. Dean had been thrashing one moment, going stock still the next, and Castiel had never seen such an expression of terror before. In sleep, Dean tilted his head up to Cas’s, practically nuzzling his neck. Without a second thought, he kissed Dean’s cheekbone and let his lips linger on his forehead.

He hoped he could be this strong later on in the day. It was 5am now, and he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to get some more shut eye in before 8am. The massage he had been so kindly given had released the effects of the day on him, sending him straight to sleep, but it was only a matter of time before his hackles were up again, rendering the massage obsolete. The Milton clan were an arrogant, pious and condescending bunch, and Castiel couldn’t be sure that they would let their traits up, even at the funeral of one of their own.

Castiel realised that he still hadn’t told Dean the rest of Anna’s story. But perhaps it was best that he didn’t know all the details. If Dean knew what his family had done, there would be palpable amounts of tension in the room, even more than with them both there as ambiguous friends. He couldn’t have his family acting hostile to Dean as well, but he had no doubts that they would anyway, in spite of how much he knew about them.

He laid there until it was time to get ready. It was particularly difficult to wake Dean up, not because he was sleeping that heavily, but because the glow of the sun radiating through the curtain was dancing upon his face in such a way that Castiel did not want to interrupt. It highlighted the smattering of freckles across Dean’s nose and cheekbones, and gilded his skin as though he were a Greek God. Of course, it didn’t help that Dean would breathe words into his ear every so often, in the midst of his slumber. Words like, “ _Cas,_ ” and “Need,” as well as unfinished sentences, such as: “I wanna...” and “You’re so...”

They were a far cry from the things that usually fell from Dean’s lips at night.

“Dean, we have to get ready now.” Dean just clung to Cas tighter, shying his face away in Cas’s neck once more. “ _Dean.”_ He cradled Dean’s head in his hand, gently encouraging him to emerge from his hiding place.

"Mmf. 'S warm." Dean opened one eye with great effort, managing to convey his annoyance at being pulled out of Cas's neck with half a squint.

Castiel suppressed the urge to kiss the sleepy irritation off of his face. "Did you sleep better?"

Dean nodded. "Thanks." Cas allowed them a couple more minutes to snooze before sliding himself out from under the other man's tentacle-like limbs, earning a groan.

"Dean, we have to get up _now_. We have an hour to eat breakfast, shower and get dressed, and then we'll drive to the service."

With a groan, Dean hoarsely mumbled, "Five more minutes? Last night kinda took it out of me." He rubbed at the stupid eyes that kept replaying flashes of his nightmares, trying to clear them of sleep and false memories so that he could see Cas.

"For me, Dean? Please?"

Despite getting a solid eleven hours of sleep, Cas looked exhausted. _Had he been awake the whole time they were in bed together?_ Dean wondered. _Was he up worrying about today?_ The slight down turn of his mouth and the crease between his eyebrows suggested so. And no matter how _he_ felt (which was crappy after the flight and the nightmares), he had to be strong for Cas. And if that meant getting his head out of his ass long enough to shower and not be a douche at Anna's funeral, then so be it.

He sat up, forcing a smile that said, 'I am ready to face the world today'.

"Sure thing man, anything for you."

* * *

When he said, ‘Anything for you’, Dean didn't quite anticipate what that might include.

But how could he have said no? Cas was shook up pretty bad, ever since they had passed some of his family walking into the church. The reverend had made a short introduction after the entry of the coffin, and the programme stated that Cas was next, with Anna's eulogy. As they came closer and closer to Cas's part, he went wide eyed and started to breathe in little short bursts.

"I can't...I can't do it. I thought I could do it, but I can't. What am I going to do?" he shakily whispered into Dean's ear.

 _Anything for you._ Dean was startled at how true that phrase was. Leaning over into Cas's space as to not disturb the service too much, he whispered, "Do you have the speech on you?

"Yes, why?" Cas quizzically eyed him, even managing his patented head tilt in his disquiet.

"Give it to me. I'll read it for you."

"Dean...no, I can't ask that of you!"

"You're not. I'm tellin' you that I'm doin' this for you, and you're just gonna accept it, okay? Okay, Cas?"

"Okay," he meekly accepted, reaching in his jacket pocket to hand the speech over.

Right on cue, the reverend announced the reading of the eulogy. "And I'll hand over to Castiel, one of Anna's brothers, to read it."

Dean squeezed Cas's hand, giving him a small, comforting smile. "It'll be fine," he mouthed.

"Thank you," Cas mouthed back, his eyes full of gratitude and...something Dean had only barely noticed before and couldn’t really identify. He walked up to the podium, attempting serene confidence. He couldn't let Cas think that he was going to screw up.

"Uh...hi. As you've probably noticed, I'm not Cas. Cas _tiel_ , sorry. I'm his friend, Dean. Even though I didn't know Anna, he brought me along for...moral support, or something like that. And I guess moral support means reading this out." Dean waved the piece of paper in his hand. "So you guys can pretend I'm Castiel while I read this out, otherwise it probably won't make a whole lotta sense." With a final nod at Cas, who attempted to smile, he began.

"Anna was everything to me. My sister, my confidante, my grace and my friend. She was one of the only things I lived for, and now that she's gone...I'm finding it difficult to be the same person. It's certainly not easy to replicate the light she guided me with, but I think that the sun of a new dawn may be rising as hers has set, and I think she would be happy about that.

"Growing up, she would always comfort me during the family altercations. We'd go up to the attic, and wait for the fallout. Sometimes, she would even make up stories and tell them to me, but mostly, we'd listen to each other's heartbeats. I don't know what I would give to hear her heart beat again.

"She was the best sister I could have ever wished for, and even though she was three years older than me, and I was...well, I was an odd child to say the least, and the youngest, Anna frequently played and spent time with me, and treated me like I was as important as everyone thought my brothers to be. She didn't have to be that way with me. She could have ignored me, or made fun of my oddities like the rest of them, but she didn't. Anna was patient, understanding, sweet, strong...I could go on, but I won't. She meant different things to each of us, and what she meant to me was very different to what she meant to my family.

"Anna ran away when she was -" Dean was interrupted by a light touch to the small of his back, and suddenly Cas was on his left (how had he not noticed?).

"I'll take it from here. Thank you," he murmured, easing Dean's worry with an assured nod, but keeping him by his side with a tug of his hand.

"Anna ran away when she was fifteen, and then again when she was nineteen. The second time, she tried to take me with her, but...our family prevented it. They also prevented letting her run away ever again. I don't know how they did it, but she was different, after that second time. More reserved, less rebellious, less...Anna.

"Even when I...lost contact with my family, she still wrote to me. From what I could tell, she led a quiet life, waiting her days out by writing. Sometimes she would send stories to me, or poems, but mostly she wanted to be a journalist, and travel the world writing stories about her adventures. That was always what she wanted to be, ever since she was 10. At first, she wanted to be a ballet dancer, but it was deemed 'frivolous' and 'not God's will', but I think that the stories she told me as a child inspired her to think of another career.

"But even at thirty, she wasn't allowed to pursue any dreams she might have had. She was kept close with an iron grip, so they had the ultimate control over her. And if I may, I'd like to say a prayer for forgiveness now, in front of everyone, instead of later, when the reverend leads it. I pray that God will forgive me for not getting her out, for not rescuing her in any way I could, as she did with me as a child. I let her down because I was afraid of my family's wrath, and because my anxiety over the past got in the way. I pray that I will be forgiven for my misdemeanours, and I pray for them. I pray that my family will be forgiven. I imagine they only did what they thought was best. Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do."

With that, Castiel pulled a frozen Dean from his place, walking them back to their seats and ignoring the shocked tones of the whispers echoing around the church.


	9. It's Closer Than You Think

“Dude, did you just quote _Jesus?_ ” a gobsmacked Dean asked.

“I believe I did,” said Cas, in a daze.

“Wow, could you have told them to fuck themselves any harder? You full on Spock'd that mother!”

Cas was sure that he was probably making sense, but didn't have time to decipher Dean's riddle-like speech right now. What had he just done? He'd dishonoured Anna's memory, that's what. He had let his personal feelings get in the way of what should have been a respectful speech and now his family would think worse of him, as would everyone else in the church.

The hubbub died down enough for the reverend to stammer over the first part of the next section, but Castiel wasn't listening. He couldn't, not when all the potential things his family was going to say to him were on repeat in his head. Cas half wished that they would just ignore him; it would be easier that way. They could all go their separate ways, and never see one another again. But he knew that that would never happen, so he braced himself for their words.

A hand slipped into his, a touch that had grown to be a natural and frequent occurrence, but he didn't squeeze it in acknowledgement as he usually did. He was still frozen and wide eyed in fear, and no amount of hand holding could remedy that at present. Castiel hadn't felt so trapped in a long time. Still, he forced himself to stay, despite his gut telling him to run, run far away and find sanctuary somewhere else, like he had done all those years ago.

He sat through the readings, the sermons, the prayers, the commendation, and the committal, barely listening to any of them. The irreverent feeling of his actions swirled around with everything else in his mind, and when it was time for the burial, Castiel could hardly stop himself from bolting out as quickly as he could to gather around the deep bed that his sister would now sleep in forever. A solitary tear fell as he scattered earth on her coffin. He quickly swiped it away with a dirty thumb, leaving a memory of the ground Anna lay in on his cheek. Dean pointed it out, but Cas shook his head, telling him to leave it for a while.

As the rest of the funeral-goers dispersed, Cas stayed where he was, staring at Anna's grave.

“I failed her,” he quietly declared, regret and sorrow filling his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, trailing through the earth clumsily smudged there. Dean took this opportunity to take hold of his friend and pull him into a hug, letting him wipe his face on the lapel of his jacket. Tears started to prick in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He didn't like seeing Cas like this, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss the salty tears from his face to let him know that he was loved.

He stroked his hair, and whispered into his ear, “You did everything you could for her, okay? This isn't your fault. You did everything you could.”

“I wish that were true,” Cas mumbled into his chest, voice cracking. They stood there for a couple of minutes, Dean calming the sobs that threatened to wrack through Cas's body, and Cas holding on to Dean for dear life.

Gabriel approached them and cleared his throat to get their attention. His cocksure attitude had worn away leaving a tired sadness in its place, and his usual energy had fizzled out.

“That was a brave thing you did in there, Cassie,” Gabriel wearily said, as though he'd been thinking about it for a while. He respected Castiel even more for saying all of it, and was proud that his little brother had come so far. The boy who would cower in the presence of his family had stood up to them as a man, albeit unconventionally. But when Castiel came through, he came through with everything he had. It was what made Gabriel admire his little brother.

“Thank you,” Cas sniffed, peeking out from Dean.

Gabriel sighed in dread for Castiel. "You ready to face the music?"

Cas nodded, and the three of them walked away from Anna's grave with a large sense of foreboding. They stopped just outside of the church, where Gabriel informed them where his aunt was waiting.

Quietly despairing, Cas asked, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Nah. I think this is something you gotta do by yourself, kiddo. I might make it worse. Besides, I’m going off the grid for a while - not that I’m supposed to be telling you.”

“Good luck,” said Castiel sincerely. Gabriel would return, eventually. It was just how he was. And Cas absolutely understood his need for avoidance as Gabriel too hated all the fighting their family did. Unfortunately, all of his older siblings were too busy arguing to comfort him.

“You too. See you around, Flo. Oh, and by the way, you might wanna look up ‘The Florence Nightingale Effect’. You’ll understand, then.” With a nod at his brother, he took his leave. Cas and Dean made their way into the church, just stopping short of the vestry. Taking hold of Cas’s arm, Dean spun him around so his back faced the door.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he commented, adjusting Castiel’s tie. “We could just leave, and you wouldn’t have to talk to her.”

Cas concurred with a slow bob of his head. “That would certainly be easier...but I think it would be best if I ‘faced the music’. I have never fled from anything, and I am certainly not starting with this.”

“How noble of you.” Cas froze as he heard his aunt’s voice for the first time in nine years.

The woman the interruption came from was standing in the doorway to the vestry, her hands resting on either side of the frame. "Castiel. How...nice, to see you after all this time. And sane, too."

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that!” Dean chimed in, glaring at her with all his might.

“I can do what I want, Dean. It was Dean, wasn’t it? How thoughtful of you to step in whenever Castiel cannot. It’s very admirable.” The condescending tone of her words didn’t surpass Dean, and he glared even harder.

Steeling himself, Castiel turned around to face his aunt. She had aged, but even so, the chestnut of her hair still outweighed the grey strands.

"Naomi," he stiffly greeted.

Naomi's face fell. "Oh, Castiel. Do you no longer think of me as your aunt?" she asked, disheartened. "That's disappointing. You are my only blood relative, after all. Your mother wouldn't be happy that you're treating me this way."

Dean scoffed. "Don't try and manipulate him!"

"I think you've said enough today, don't you?" Her cold snap resounded throughout the echoey chamber, making Castiel start.

"I also think it would be best if I spoke to Castiel alone. You have obviously had enough of an influence on him already."

That set Castiel off. To call Dean a bad influence when he had brought nothing but light and purpose to his life? When he had helped and supported him through this past week? That was a bad move on his aunt's behalf. "I will not permit you to speak to him like that. I will -"

"Castiel, you do not -"

"No, _you_ do not. You do not _anything_. You do not understand, you do not know, and you do _not_ take that tone with him. You may with me, by all means. But not Dean. He is undeserving of your condescension, and I am having none of it. Do you understand?"

His aunt pursed her lips, and Castiel readied himself for her undoubted wrath that was to come when they were alone. “I will speak with you in private now. Dean, stay here. Or don't. Just...be around when I get back, please,” he wearily directed at his friend. Dean nodded, and Castiel followed his aunt into the vestry.

It wasn't a small room, nor was it so big that one might hear an echo if they spoke. But there was enough room for a large table to adorn the centre of it, with white chairs seated around it. In the corner, there was a small piano, _one for practice_ , Castiel thought. His mother used to play the piano. It was one of the only things he remembered about her. Sometimes, he would crawl onto her lap and play too, though of course his chords were just keys that clashed as his pudgy fingers cumbersomely bashed the piano.

“Mind wandering, Castiel?” Naomi's smooth stoppage of his reverie cut through him like a knife and frosted over the warm memories of his mother's old baby grand.

“You know, it's funny,” she said with a slight smile and a glint of malice in her eye, “we could have healed you, _God_ could have healed you. But you chose to go to a clinic for help. Who do they think created science? You didn't _have_ to choose the middle man. You could have been fixed, directly. But instead, you took Him out of the equation. Much like your friend has done with your name. The 'iel' – it means 'of God'. But he calls you...’Cas’. You are so without God, without faith. I pity you.”

Cas's blood was slowly boiling, and it took all his might to stay composed. He spared half a moment to think about his next move, and took it. “'Fixed' – you talk as though we are your toys to be played with. I can assure you, I am not one of them. Nor was Anna. And please, do not pity me. I have faith. I simply do not place it in _your_ God anymore. I place it in the benevolent God, the one who understands if prayer cannot assist recovery. And I place it in Dean.”

Naomi curled her lip in derision. “You place your faith in him? He is nothing but a worthless bag of unholy meat, and I am ashamed that you keep in such company. And as for Anna?" She laughed hollowly. “You should not presume anything... _anything_ about your sister. If I am not mistaken, you still do not know the cause of her death.”

“Nor do I wish to know.” Castiel ignored the comment about his friend, not wanting to allow Naomi to get a rise out of him.

“Well that's too bad.”

Naomi walked around the table, her fingers lingering on the surface as though checking for dust. Castiel followed her movements with suspicious eyes, only facing her when she glided out of his periphery. His aunt stopped when she was opposite him, the table separating them, and he wondered whether she was creating a barricade of sorts.

"It's a shame that she had to die so young," she began, "and a shame that she had to take inspiration from you, in the end. There was a point where I thought she might follow in Michael's footsteps, but it seemed that her...problem, shall we say, got in the way."

"Her problem? You call being beaten and conditioned _her problem?_ "

Naomi shrugged.

"You have...no remorse." Castiel quietly and futily realised, fixing his eyes on the table and looking anywhere but in her icy blue eyes.

"I can't say that I do. After all, I only kept her out of obligation. Of course, I _am_ unhappy that she will be going to Hell...but she was becoming something of a burden, and rather useless, to be completely frank."

Castiel was aghast. "You...you -"

"Oh I didn't do anything, Castiel. Not really. Didn't you hear me before? She took her inspiration from _you._ Only this time, she succeeded where you couldn't. What was it again? Drinking chloroform and using one of my tools to bleed yourself? If you hadn't have paved the way for her, she would not have followed. So it wasn't us who killed her in the end. It was you."

It was like Castiel had been struck by a bolt of lightening, frozen until the electricity found an exit in the form of his shaking head. _No, no no no_ no. It couldn't be true. "I don't believe you," he breathed, barely managing to form words. His knees buckled, but he caught himself by falling onto the table for support, his hands and wrists taking the brunt of the weight.

"It doesn't matter. It's the truth either way. So you can take your so-called _eulogy,_ and take it to whichever circle of Hell you are damned to."

Castiel hardly heard his aunt leave the room. He was underwater, struggling to surface from the spiteful words replaying over and over in his head. Everything was muted and nothing made sense. Not even the distant feeling of being slapped roused him from his numb horror.

But something did pass through the veil of his lost remove: a worried, albeit exasperated mutter of, “Dammit Cas!”

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he found himself whispering before he was wrapped in an unreciprocated embrace.

“No, no, I’m not angry with you, don’t think that. I just want you to be okay.”

He wasn’t okay. He didn’t even bring any of his medication with him. How could he have forgotten to pack them? He was so foolish, so neglectful to think that this wouldn’t happen. Of course it would. There was no possible situation where he could have gone through today and _not_ have a breakdown of sorts. He was imbecilic, and he was shaking like he hadn’t done in months, and he couldn’t breathe properly. The hug probably wasn’t helping.

He pushed a rebuffed Dean away, gasping for air and dropping to a chair that had appeared. A bottle of water suddenly found its way into his hand, so he did the polite thing and drank it, taking a sip, a breath, a sip, a breath, a sip, a breath, until his hyperventilating evened out, and the water was drained.

A low voice quieted the hive of thoughts buzzing through him, finally bringing him back to the here and now. “Cas, are you there? Are you with me?”

“I’m with you,” he woozily uttered.

Dean let out a shaky breath. “Thank God. I just...I...are you okay? No, forget I asked. Stupid question.”

He was kneeling before Castiel as he had done when they were on the hill overlooking the ocean, when Cas had found out about Anna. It wasn’t a fond memory, but Dean was the constant pillar of support that appeared both on both occasions. This time, Dean had a hand twisted in Cas’s pant material, and the other on his jacket sleeve, gripping them both like he was trying to stop him from flying away.

“Say something. Anything. Please. Or don’t, if you can’t, but I need to know that you’re okay. I need you to be okay, Cas.”

Cas still wasn’t okay, but he knew that he would get there, eventually. He’d had enough of these to know, and had worse. But it was difficult, to know what to say. So he simply placed his hand on Dean’s head, stroked his hair and cupped the side of his face. Dean leant into the touch, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose. Bringing his other hand up, Castiel carefully held Dean’s face like it was made of porcelain, and tilted it up to look at him. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering to murmur something into Dean’s skin, but nothing came out.

Pulling back, their wet eyes met. Ignoring the fresh stream of tears on both of their cheeks, they gathered each other up in their arms, both clinging on to the other like they needed them to breathe. Which, it seemed, they did.

Dean started to talk, stumbling over a simple letter. “I...I...I -”

“I know,” Castiel hushed, pulling Dean further into lap territory. “We’ll be okay.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the day curled around each other in Cas’s bed. By the looks that Dean was shooting at the bed opposite, the chosen place of rest was a done deal before they’d even exchanged silent glances; but if Dean didn’t want to sleep there because of the potential nightmares, then Castiel wouldn’t argue. They both needed to sleep well tonight, even if they were doing nothing but catching an afternoon flight the next day.

After they’d lazed around in quiet for a while, Dean felt for the TV remote on the bedside table, switching the television on and flicking through the few channels the hotel had until he came across some cartoons.

“Cartoons?” came Cas’s amused drawl.

Dean wriggled further under the covers and snuggled into Castiel, making himself comfortable. “Shut up. They’re hilarious.”

“Hilarious...” Castiel slowly repeated, as though trying to understand the concept. Dean hoped that Cas would find them funny, or distracting enough that he’d forget about today. Not that that would happen easily. From what he understood, that bitch had said some pretty mean stuff, and had left Cas to have his first attack in months. And the worst part? Cas had brushed it off, even scolding Dean when he’d called his aunt a bitch. Maybe it was uncalled for, but - actually, _no,_ it wasn’t uncalled for. _You know what’s fucking uncalled for? Treating someone the way that she treated Cas._ He couldn’t believe that Cas had managed to live with that woman for most of his life and come out as unscathed as he had. Now, not to say that Cas wasn’t...scathed, but when he looked at what happened to Anna, Dean shuddered to think what might have become of his best friend.

His best friend? Dean hadn’t really thought about it until now, but...yeah. Cas was his best friend. The best friend he’d ever had, despite knowing him for almost a month. _Fuck. Was it really almost a month?_ Dean would have to do something special for their month anniversary. Because _hell yes_ they were celebrating their anniversary. After all the shit they’d been through? They needed a little celebration.

Dean still couldn’t believe he’d cried earlier, though. It was just...seeing Cas like that, it really worried him, and he needed Cas to be okay more than he wanted pie at any given time. Which was saying a lot. If Cas wasn’t alright, then what could he do? Laying in bed all day and refusing to eat he could deal with, but not things like that. Cas’s breathing had been all off like he was dying, and his eyes were crazed, and he couldn’t find purchase on anything even though his legs were giving out, so Dean had held him up for a little while before he’d been roughly shoved away.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. And when Cas was back in the room, metaphorically of course, he’d been so relieved, and affected by the whole thing. It made him forget the rude things that Castiel’s other aunt had said to him while he was waiting a little ways down the hall. Something about Cas being ‘lost’ or some shit. He didn’t have the manners to listen to her trying to belittle them both.

Suddenly, Castiel laughed. Dean looked up at him inquisitively, and Cas looked indignantly back.

“What? It’s hilarious. It’s obviously a metaphor for God, and the...what are you smiling at?”

Dean checked himself, and apparently, the biggest, goofiest smile had spread across his face. “You,” he feebly offered. “You’re my best friend.”

Visibly surprised, Cas stared at him for a second, before a dazzling smile overcame his features. The sight awed Dean, entrancing him and rendering him speechless.

“And you are mine, Dean Winchester,” Cas softly declared, eliciting a blush from Dean. Even without the precursor that sentence still would have made sense, _and it would have been the truth,_ Dean admitted to himself. He was Cas’s, Castiel’s. Castiel Milton’s. Anything Cas was, Dean was his, from the moment they had exchanged stunned gazes when they were pressed together on the tracks and gravel, forced together by coincidence of location, amongst other things.

The cartoon was background noise for him now. Dean was entirely focused on Cas’s reactions, smiling with him and looking fondly on as Cas frowned at the jokes he did not understand. It was adorable.

Peering at Dean from the corner of his eyes, Cas said, “You know, I am often told that _I_ stare too much.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry. Am I freaking you out?” Disappointed that he’d been caught, Dean quickly glanced back to the television in embarrassment.

“No,” Cas answered. “I’m not easily...uh, ‘freaked out’ by staring.” _But I am by other things,_ Castiel remembered, his good mood deflating. Attempting to cover his faltering temperament up, he continued, “And nothing you could do would ever unsettle me.”

Dean repressed the urge to negate that statement by kissing him, and Cas must have picked up on something because he slid out of the bed and shrugged his trenchcoat on.

He sighed. “I need to take a walk.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded, his jaw clenching. Still wanting to be supportive despite the nagging feeling that Cas had read his mind and was abhorred by what he found, he asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No thank you. I need to be alone right now.”

“Oh – okay.” Dean felt strangely rejected, and even more so when Cas wouldn't look him in the eye. “Are you -”

“I'm _fine,_ ” Cas snapped, before wincing at his own tone. “I'm sorry, I just really need to be....”

“Alone. Yeah, I get it,” Dean grunted, not shifting his gaze from the TV screen. He heard the door slam, signifying Cas's departure, but didn't look to the noise. He kept an ear out for footsteps walking back and a key turning in the door, but no such sounds came. A dull throb ached through his body.

Dean was utterly bewildered. _What just happened?_ he thought to himself. He wasn't any closer to an answer, so he asked aloud, “What just happened?” But still, no answer came. His best bet was that he made Cas claustrophobic with his clinging and his goofy smiling and his _'You're my best friend'-_ ing. Was he really so transparent? And was Cas that disgusted by him? Dean didn't hear what Naomi said to Cas, but what if it was about Dean? He shuddered to think of the worst things she could say to have Cas react like that.

But maybe Cas really _did_ want to be alone, and he was overthinking it. By the way Cas slunk off to his room after being out and about, running away from the push of the crowds, it wasn't entirely unlikely. Castiel just didn't like being around people all the time, he knew that. Dean just thought that he was the exception.

Dean didn't like being alone. Being alone made him think, and thinking always led to bad things. See, he was thinking right now, and his thoughts weren't exactly rainbows and Disneyland. Okay, maybe there were a few rainbows, but soon the rain would overcome everything else, ridding the sky of its colour and obscuring his view of the world.

 _Shit._ Dean threw an arm over his face and groaned. It had only been a couple of minutes, but he missed Castiel. He missed Cas with his whole self, and that dull throb wasn't just in his body anymore – it had spread to his soul.

* * *

No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not Balthazar, not any of the one night stands he told himself he had a connection with, no one. _He_ was the one who stared at people. Not once had he found someone gazing at him with such adulation, such ardency, such _affection_.

They say each love is different, and if Castiel was feeling what he thought he was feeling, then whoever 'they' were were right. His and Balthazar's love had been selfish and frenzied and littered with cyclical moments, whereas with him and Dean... - _No._ Castiel needed to stop having these thoughts. It was immoral to take advantage of Dean when he was obviously still affected by his attempts and plagued by his past. It wasn't that Cas didn't _want_ to do something about their painfully obvious feelings for each other, it was just that he couldn't; he couldn't lose Dean when he eventually figured out that Cas didn't know how to heal his inner scars, and when he eventually cast Cas away because of his own scars.

No one had ever stayed for him. No one had ever gone back for him. Why was Dean any different? _Because it's Dean,_ a voice at the back of his mind urged. But he ignored it. It was wrong. He didn't dare hope, because his hopes were always shattered.

Castiel had avoided looking at the man on his bed as he left, not wanting to see the dejected confusion he heard in Dean's voice nor the stony resentment that followed. Dean would understand in time. He just couldn't do this, he couldn't, he couldn't open his heart up to be hurt again. No matter how great the joy might be if he were with Dean, the pain of the aftermath would be greater. He had weighed it all up, and it was - wait, was that a bar?

* * *

After a couple of hours of sulking and telling himself not to be such a teenage girl, Dean punched the standby button on the remote with his thumb. He had flicked between a couple of talk shows, neither of them garnering his interest enough for him to give any of them his full attention, and had ultimately ended up watching Dr. Sexy, M.D. But of course, he kept imagining Cas in a lab coat, scrubs, and cowboy boots, so he switched that off too. Where _was_ Cas, anyway? He was sure taking his sweet time on this walk.

Masking his concerned search as the need to check his bank balance, Dean pulled on a jacket and made his way down to the lobby. He’d spotted a couple of ATMs there earlier (free of charge to use, too) and had made a mental note to make use of them before they left. Last time he checked, he’d had about $100 in there, so wasn’t expecting much from this trip, even though he rarely used his card. Dean liked to find change lying about; it perked up his day whenever he did. This wasn’t counting the copious amounts of change in his sock drawer, of course. That change was only for buses.

He smiled at the receptionist, getting a seductive smirk out of her. Funny - it had felt like a wan smile, not a flirty one. Entering his PIN, Dean surveyed the immediate vicinity, hoping to catch a glance of the telltale flap of a trenchcoat. No luck. He rolled his eyes at his lower-than-low balance and wondered why he even checked it to begin with. _Oh yeah. To see if Cas was about._

Dawdling away with a huff and a brief upturn of his lips directed at the receptionist, Dean did a final scan of the rooms he could see into from the lobby. Cas wasn’t in the restaurant, the gym, or the 24 hour hair salon. Wondering why a hair salon would need to be 24 hour, Dean shook his head. Obviously he didn’t understand the need for a four am haircut like others did, but - wait, was that a bar? Dean couldn’t believe he had missed that. It was situated well into the restaurant, so he couldn’t be blamed for his oversight. Man, he could go for a drink right now.

But it looked like his friend had already beat him to it. Dean would recognise that brilliant dark shock of hair anywhere, on top of those strong shoulders enveloped in that tan trenchcoat. He fully intended to go up to Cas and demand why his walk had taken so damn long, but it seemed as though Cas was already engaged in conversation with someone else. A handsome someone else, to be exact.

Dean felt fine that Cas was making friends. He could do what he wanted. Dean only decided to storm over when the fucker leaned over into Cas's space and whispered something in his ear, caressing his thigh as a silent promise.

Well, it _would_ have been a silent promise if the douche hadn't been non-silently promising in Cas's ear, flicking his tongue out to lick the shell of it. Okay, that was it. It wasn't so much red that Dean saw, as opposed to _yeah that's the fucking crimson colour of blood there, pal, so get your dirty hands off of him before I cut them off._

“Hey pal!” he brightly said, a murderous smile taking over his face, “Didn't ya hear the bell? Your time's up, move onto the next table.”

The guy had the fucking nerve to smile back at him, with perfect teeth that Dean wanted to knock out. “Sorry. Me and Cassiel here kinda have something going on. I’m sure he's flattered, though,” Another smile, this one wolfish and directed at Cas.

“His name is _Castiel_ , you ass,” Dean hissed through gritted teeth, gripping onto the bar before he got kicked out for punching the guy.

Cas turned around and planted a hand on his chest. “Dean, it's fine. We were just having a conversation.”

“Oh yeah, and were you gonna bring him up to _converse_ in our room?" he fumed, green eyes made greener with jealousy.

“Wait...” the handsome douche frowned, looking baffled. “Are you two...together?”

Castiel contemplated this question. “In a sense, yes.”

Handsome Douche pulled his eyebrows together in anger, raising his voice. “So, what, you're with someone and you're here, leading me on? Jeez, you're such a cocktease!”

“Hey, you watch your mouth before I punch it!” Dean warned. _No one_ spoke to Cas like that, not on his watch.

“Whatever. You two fucktards are welcome to each other.” With that, Handsome Douche took his leave, and Dean restrained himself from running after him and punching his lights out. Triumphantly, he smirked at Cas.

Cas did not smirk back, or thank him. Instead, he growled, “Our room. _Now.”_

* * *

“What the fuck was that?” Castiel snapped, stumblingly turning on Dean as soon as they entered the room.

“Woah, Cas, what? Are you _drunk?”_ Now that they had escaped the dim light of the bar, Dean saw the dark semicircles that laid under Cas's eyes and the angry jut of his jaw. The riled puff of his hair had made a comeback and Dean had to admit, this time willingly, again that angry Castiel was hot.

Cas's nostrils flared in indignation. “No. Yes. It is not of import. What _is_ of import, however, is why you just...cock-blocked me.”

Dean almost laughed but thought better of it. “I cock-blocked you? Wait, you were actually going to _fuck_ that guy?" He failed miserably to hide the hurt in his voice.

“Yes!” bit Cas, enraged. With a little guilt caught in his throat, he sighed and amended, “Perhaps.”

Sitting heavily down on his own bed, Dean mimicked the whoosh that it made and hoped that Cas didn't realise that the pained release of air came from him. “Really?”

“No,” Castiel admitted. “I just...I wanted to feel _wanted_.” He carefully sauntered over to his bed, sitting opposite Dean. Cas muttered something else, but Dean was too shocked to hear anything but the trapped scream of, _'But I want you!'_

Before he could go through with it and let the words run free, Cas stood and puffed himself up again and glared at him with everything he had. “But you _had_ to come storming in, with your self-entitlement, and your self-righteousness, and your...overbearing _need_ to defend me because you don’t think I can fight my own battles. Well, I can. So screw you, Dean Winchester, with your...your recklessness and your references. _Screw. You._ ”

Castiel panted, still glaring at Dean. In this moment, Dean took the chance to brazenly stare him down. “Okay,” he slowly started, standing and letting his eyes bore a dare into Cas's, “screw me.”

Angry cobalt eyes widened. “What?” Cas whispered.

“You heard me. You want to so bad, you can go ahead...and _screw me._ ”

Dean wasn't standing for long. Cas threw himself at him, pinning him to the bed and encircling his wrists with his fingers, effectively shutting Dean up with his mouth. Their lips clashed together, and Dean moaned through it, loving the weight of Cas on top of him and the aftertaste of beer in Cas's mouth. Temporarily releasing Dean’s wrists, Cas kept both knees straddled aside Dean’s hips to hold him while he hurriedly removed his trenchcoat and slung it to the floor.

One layer down, Castiel resumed his earlier position and shifted Dean so that his head rested on the pillows. He mouthed at his throat, kissing down the stubbly adam's apple to bite down on the skin between Dean’s neck and shoulder, instantly kissing away the pain part of the pain/pleasure that it brought. Going back to nuzzle his throat, Castiel revelled in the vibrations that came coupled with the delicious noises Dean was making.

Cas gave ownership of Dean's left wrist to his other hand, holding both of Dean's hands above his head with just one of his, sliding the other down to cup Dean's erection. Dean gasped, and Cas swallowed it with another kiss, and another and another until it became frenzied and sloppy and - Dean was trying to say something against his lips.

“Cas, wait,” he breathed, failing to harness the buck of his hips. “Not like...” - Dean bit back a moan - “Not like this. Not when you're -” Another kiss was pressed on his mouth. “drunk. And you don't know what you're doing.”

“I am perfectly aware of what I am doing,” Cas rumbled. “You _asked_ for this, so don't tell me -”

Dean cut him off with a peck of his plush lips. “I know, I know what I asked for, and I want it, I do...just...”

“Not like this.”

“Not like this,” Dean softly confirmed.

Nodding, Castiel released his hold on Dean and pulled back. He tenderly cupped Dean's face and kissed him one last time, slow and deep.

Dean gazed up at him after they had lingered at each other's mouths for long enough. “Will you remember this?”

“I don't know. Would you like me to remember this?”

“I don't know.”

They spent the rest of the night in silence and separate beds, each drained empty from the trials of the day. Both refused to begin talking, and neither found the strength to start. From the stubborn stillness, it was resolved that they would never speak of this day again, no matter how much they yearned to.


	10. He's Got To Get Through

_There’s aspirin and water on your bedside table. Call me if you need me._

_Dean._

_P.S. I’m kidding about the last part - You can just yell or something, I’m probably in the bathroom or packing or whatever. Either way, I’ll be here when your hungover ass wakes up._

~~_Dean._ ~~

Castiel smiled at the image of Dean crossing his name out upon realising he’d written it twice. He imagined that it had involved a ‘shit’, a frustrated sigh, and a ‘fuck it’, but the smile quickly turned into a grimace of anguish, as his head threatened to expand into the supernova it felt like. Distantly recalling an almost identical note he left for Dean once, he took the aspirin, gulping down the water with it.

Dean was too good to him. _No, too good_ for _him,_ his throbbing head corrected. Cas thought about standing, but chances were that he would have to run to the bathroom if he did. He hated throwing up. Expelling his guts always affected him in the form of general wooziness, as well as brutal honesty. He didn’t quite understand it, but he made sure to avoid it whenever possible, especially in this scenario, where he would probably tell Dean the real reason he left last night.

Glancing over to the empty bed, he wondered how Dean had slept. And he _had_ slept, judging by the crease of the sheets and the throw of the duvet. _That was good_ , Cas nodded. However, he planned to ask him how he slept anyway, because if Dean _was_ making progress and building himself up to sleep alone again, then he needed forewarning. It was a slight overreaction to just one night apart, but after the parts of last night that Cas could remember then hr wouldn’t be surprised if Dean never wanted to share a bed again.

The toilet flushed, and Castiel heard the sound of running water before Dean walked out of the bathroom humming, wiping his hands on his bare thighs. He was wearing the tantalising combination of black briefs and a dark green t-shirt, both items hugging his body perfectly.

Dean went slightly pink on noticing Cas’s eyes scraping up his body and shyly looked away, endearing Castiel even more to ‘Morning Dean’. His dirty blond hair was fluffy and sticking up at all angles from when he had rubbed it into his pillow, and his voice was no doubt rougher than usual.

Cas put that last one to the test. “How did you sleep?" he asked, trying to make it sound fresh, like the question hadn’t been sitting in his head since he woke up.

He was answered with a half-hearted grunt, which both disappointed him, on account of not hearing that beautiful gruff voice, and pleased him, on account that he probably wouldn’t be completely resigned to lonely nights.

“You might wanna get dressed,” Dean pointed out, “You’re still in your clothes from yesterday. Well, apart from your trenchcoat.” He gazed longingly at the rumpled coat in the middle of the floor, and bent down to pick it up, folding it and placing it on the end of Cas’s bed. “Remember, we gotta check out by one, so get your ass in gear, ‘cause we got a flight to catch. Or not. We could just drive back,” Dean nonchalantly commented, but Cas knew better than to trust that faux-casual tone.

“I promise you, Dean, it will be more than fine. If it desists your fear, you should remember that Gabriel will not be joining us this time,” he earnestly assured.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, not entirely convinced that it would be all that different. He pulled off his t-shirt, exposing his muscled back to Cas.

Just as he was slipping another on, Castiel blurted, “I’m sorry. For the things I said - and did - last night.”

Dean froze, his arms halfway through the short sleeves, caught up in the black material.

“When I consume a lot of alcohol, I am told that I can be mean, and rude, and -”

“Damn grumpy,” Dean finished for him, resuming dressing himself.

Castiel nodded in concurrence. “Yes. So I apologise if I hurt your feelings, and I assure you that anything I did or said...I didn’t mean it.”

Slowly turning around and eyeing him apprehensively, Dean said, “Wait - so you don’t remember?”

“Well,” he apologetically started, “I remember a _few_ things, but not all of them. I remember calling you self-righteous and selfish.”

Dean shrugged. “You weren’t wrong.”

Sighing, Cas brought a hand to his forehead in exasperation. The pounding was worse than ever. “I’m not getting into this right now. I don’t believe those things, Dean, I was reacting to the circumstances. Please understand that you are incredibly self _less,_ and that is part of the reason why I...” he trailed off with wide eyes, realising what he was about to say.

“Why you what, Cas?” Dean breathed, watching him with expectancy.

His breathing sped up, and he swallowed up the impulsive words that were going to spew out of his mouth without his consent. “Why I...think that you are...an incredibly, um, _righteous_ man,” Cas covered.

“Right,” the other man flatly replied. Was that a hint of disappointment that Castiel heard a glimpse of?

For the rest of their time in the hotel, they passed like ships in the night, barely speaking a word to each other. It concerned Castiel, but not to the point where he did anything about it. If Dean wanted peace and quiet, then he would give it to him. He’d give anything to Dean, if he asked.

However, the levee broke when they were about to board their plane home. Dean was hiding behind a steely facade, barely allowing any of his thoughts or emotions show on his face and usually when Dean put up a front, Cas could see the truth in his eyes, but they weren’t saying anything either.

He must have done something to upset him. As Dean was pacing in their lounge, Cas caught hold of his jacket sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Dean raised his eyebrows, a silent gesture for Cas to explain why he had made him take pause.

“Have I done something wrong?” Cas burst.

Dean’s brows knitted together. “No. Why?”

“You’re being...odd, and quiet.” He shifted uncomfortably and wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “You would tell me if I had done anything to offend you, would you not?” Glancing up hopefully, Cas tugged on the other man’s sleeve again, this time to prompt an answer.

“Sure,” Dean weakly answered. With a heavy sigh, he plonked himself down next to Castiel, elbows on thighs and hands wringing worriedly. “I just - I just... _feel_ \- wow, it’s feels weird to say that,” he muttered, before continuing, “I feel like...I don’t know what I feel. Do you understand?”

Cas blinked. “No,” he replied, narrowing his eyes in incomprehension.

“It’s like, I’ve been thinking. Or trying to think, anyway. About me. About what happiness is for me.” Dean looked to Cas for the confirmation to go on, who gave him a singular nod. He scrunched his face up, ran a hand through his hair and willed himself to get on with whatever it was he was trying to say. “Uh, I kinda _need_ someone around me to be...neutral, I don’t know. But I need to be lookin’ after someone to be happy, and that’s kinda fucked up. So I’m trying to change it, and I’m trying to change _me._ Like, six months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to sit and talk with you about this - Hell, _one_ month ago I couldn’t do it.

“I think it’s ‘cause I had to look after Sammy, and make sure Dad didn’t do anything stupid. It’s always been... _ingrained_ in me, I don’t know, that my purpose is to be a...a...a caretaker, if that makes sense. But what if I don’t wanna be that, Cas? What if I just want to _be?_ And not be alone at the same time? As much as I can caretake or whatever for other people, I’m not cut out to do it for me, for myself. I suck at looking after myself. And you...you’re - you don’t seem like you’re goin’ away anytime soon. Which is good, ‘cause I don’t want you to. So can we just...be? And not give a crap about anyone else? Not your aunt, not my dad, not anyone who ain’t gonna make us happy. ‘Cause I think that would help me. And you.”

Castiel was speechless. What was this? While he could read Dean incredibly easily most of the time (which was saying something - he wasn’t renowned for his people skills), he did find it acutely difficult to navigate the stepping stones of Dean’s mind.

Covering his face, Dean groaned. “Can I be super chick-flicky right now, and can you forget this next thing immediately after I say it?”

Castiel made no such promise.

“I think...I think that our pasts prepared us, so that when we met, we’d be ready for each other. Does that make sense? You had to have a shitty family who drove you to the edge of your life, so that you could save mine, and taking care of my family had to be forced on me, so that I could look after you when you needed it.”

“Dean,” Castiel started, his heart melting, “are you implying that...fate brought us together?”

Pink rose to the surface of his cheeks, creating the perfect background to highlight his freckles. “No,” Dean scowled, “I’m saying that our lives _prepared_ us...no, that we were somehow arranged to - we had to adapt to our shit so that we could...never mind. You don’t get it.”

“No, I do get it,” Cas crooned. “You are saying that, in a way, we were meant for each other.”

Their fingers intertwined for the first time in what felt like days, and Castiel’s pounding head transferred its erratic beat to his heart. The leaves of the forest in Dean’s eyes were reflecting the amazon sun, effectively making his irises sparkle with the promise of warmth.

“Maybe...” Dean murmured, settling his head comfortably on Cas’s shoulder. Cas planted a kiss atop it, and subsequently rested his head on Dean’s. “I missed you,” Dean whispered into his neck.

Confused, Cas frowned. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Last night, dumbass. You just conked out after you...”

“After I what?”

Clearing his throat, Dean completed his sentence. “After you yelled at me for cock-blocking you,”

“I did, didn’t I?” Cas said lowly. “I profusely apologise for that, Dean. If it’s any consolation, I wasn’t planning on sleeping with him.”

Dean hummed. Cas thought he might have heard a muffled ‘good’, but didn’t hope too hard. He tried to dig up more memories of last night, just _knowing_ that he was forgetting something, but was interrupted by the announcement that their flight was now boarding. Castiel elected to suppress the roiling feel in his gut, chalking it up the the alcohol that was still passing through his body, and not the pull of whatever it was he was missing.

He dragged Dean onto to plane by his hand, threatening to withdraw all storytimes if he didn’t comply. Dean nervously glowered at that, if it were possible, and reluctantly took his seat on the plane, belting up as soon as his shaking hands allowed. When they took off, Castiel was fairly sure that the whole plane could hear Dean’s singing. It wasn’t a bad thing - Dean had a wonderful voice, all rough and soulful and lyrical and _Dean_. He planned to ask to Dean to sing again, later, when the circumstances were different and they were alone. Cas imagined that he would be shy and retiring about it, lowering his eyes but quirking the corner of his lips. It would take some persuading, but the energy Castiel would put into coaxing a tune out of him would be worth it when he heard that sweet voice unmarred by fear.

Castiel stopped his train of thought in favour of being almost incredulous that not only was Dean in his presence, but in every corner of his mind, filling the dark spaces with the light he brought him. Determined to let Dean's presence be enough, he decided upon distracting himself with the scenery that he missed last time, imagining that he was flying over the clouds and cities. At one point, a cloud broke and poured its contents over the land. The sun shone through, near blinding Cas, but it caught the droplets of rain, creating a rainbow. He hadn’t witnessed a rainbow in years. He nudged Dean, who refused to look at first but was mesmerised when he did. Making an offhand comment about the dubiety of Leprechauns, Dean returned to blocking out the whole experience - but not before he pointed out the colour of Cas’s eyes in the indigo shimmer of the rainbow.

* * *

They let themselves into Cas’s apartment and immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. Dean had bought a few things for them to eat when they got back, but neither was in the mood to cook a proper meal. After some lazy deliberating slumped at the table, Dean decided to make them some quick, easy spaghetti-o's on grilled cheese (‘one of Sam’s favourites before he grew a stomach for salad’).

Wanting to unwind after a couple of stressful days, Cas suggested that they eat on the couch, watching TV. Dean, of course, obliged, as he never passed up a chance to watch the television when 'Dr. Sexy, M.D.' was on. He switched the channel over to it and leant back, feet on the coffee table and plate in his lap. In between shovelling forkfuls of food into his mouth, he smirked and blushed as Dr. Sexy flirted with everyone in the show, patients included. Cas was fairly sure that was against the Hippocratic Oath, but mentally shrugged and continued eating.

It was only when Dr. Sexy undressed for a sex scene that he noticed Dean shifting uncomfortably. The sex was more...making love than carnal fucking, which surprised Castiel. He thought Dr. Sexy seemed like the latter kind of lover. Inclining his head towards Dean to make a comment on it, noticed that Dean had moved his plate firmly into his lap. He side-eyed his friend, dragging his gaze from the twitching hands to the obviously and failingly controlled breaths making Dean's chest rise and fall in a stutter, like someone who had run half a mile and didn't want to show it.

“Dean,” he began, caught between not wanting to embarrass his friend and being utterly turned on by it, “is everything alright? You seem a little...out of breath.”

Dean stared at him, all worry and incredulity. “What? What are you talking about? I’m fine! Just, uh, I ate too much.” He bit his lip, which made up Castiel’s mind of what to say next.

He shuffled a little closer, eyes glinting. “Do you... _like_ Dr. Sexy, Dean?”

“Of course I like him! He’s the main character!”

“You know what I mean,” Cas purred.

Dean’s pupils expanded, the black outweighing the green, and his breathing started to get ragged. “M-maybe...I mean, he’s uh...kinda hot, probably.”

“Probably?” Grinning wickedly, Cas flicked his eyes down to Dean’s crotch, daring himself to make the move he had so badly wanted to make for days. “Only ‘kinda hot’?”

“Well yeah, I mean, he’s not exactly...not exactly, um...holy shit!” Dean almost threw the plate off his lap in his scramble. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone, lighting up with Sam’s name. Murmuring “I really need to lower that vibrate setting...”, he shot an embarrassed look at Cas, and answered, “Hey, Sam! What’s goin’ on?”

“ _Where have you been?”_ Dean instinctively held the phone away from his ear at the pissy tone. “ _This is like, the fifth time I’ve called you today! And you’re not at your apartment, either. Are you in trouble?”_

With a frown, he cried, “What? No! Why would you even think that?”

“ _I don’t know, how about because you never leave your apartment unless it’s to go to work or trick women into sleeping with you?”_

Obviously Sam’s bitchy words could be heard from the sofa, because Cas raised his eyebrows in a silent question at the last part.

Dean forced a laugh. “I’m at a friend’s, and I haven’t been picking up because I’ve been on a plane.”

“ _A friend’s? Dean, you don’t_ have _any friends. And a plane? Really? I thought you hated those things?”_

“I do! And I _do._ With a burning passion. But I, uh, did it for a friend. The friend's whose place I’m at.” He glanced shyly at Cas, whose eyes were glued to the television in politeness, the reflection of Dr. Sexy dancing in the glass of them. _Cas would make a sexy Dr. Sexy_. Fortunately, the signal on that playback was interrupted by his brother.

“ _A friend like a girlfriend?”_ Uh oh. Sam sounded excited. Dean would have to quash that immediately before any hopes were gotten up.

“No, not like a girlfriend!” he said, a little too quickly. “A good friend. Who I want you to meet at some point.” Cas gave a small smile at that, one that he didn’t think Dean saw.

“ _Okay, whatever. It’s just that I’m back in town for a week or so, and I wanted to crash at yours, but you weren’t there. So I’m staying at someone else’s.”_

“Is school goin’ good? You’re not dropping out, are you?” Dean worried, uncaring of the fact he sounded like a concerned parent.

Sam snorted. “ _No, it’s just a reading week. And I wanted to see you, it’s been a while.”_

He couldn’t help but feel a little joy at the fact that his brother was initiating the hang out. Sam hadn’t wanted to hang out with his loser older brother in years. “Okay, well, when do you wanna meet?”

“ _Are you free now?”_

Dean covered the receiver with his hand. “My brother wants to meet somewhere. You gonna be okay for a few hours?”

“I’m not a child, Dean,” Cas sighed exasperatedly.

In what he hoped was a somewhat pacifying tone, Dean said, “I know, I’m just makin’ sure. You positive? ‘Cause I don’t wanna go and come back to find you drunk as hell again.”

“I thought you had the monopoly on getting drunk consecutively for two days,” he retorted, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“ _You’ve_ got the monopoly...shut up!” Dean leant over and playfully tousled Cas’s hair, magically messing it up more than it already was. Cas tilted his head into it, and Dean scratched his head like he would a cat’s (but without the glove on) before he pulled his fingers out of the silky black ruffle.

“ _Dean? You still there?”_

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. Just had to - never mind. Where do you wanna meet?” Sam suggested a bar that Dean had never heard of, but he agreed nonetheless. It wasn’t every day that his little brother wanted to see him.

Cas sensed his excitement - it wasn’t difficult, Dean was grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing off the walls - so told him to go without worrying about him or the dishes. Once Dean had left, he turned the TV off and curled up on the couch, trying to relish the peace and quiet of his place without thinking too much about how he missed hearing the breaths that weren’t his.

* * *

“So, tell me about this friend of yours. I wanna know who made my big brother go on a _plane_.”

They had been sitting at a small table that reeked of spilt beer for about an hour now, Dean listening to Sam talking about his girlfriend, his classes and the law firms he wanted to apply to. It was familiar, but a little surreal - this was the real world they were chit-chatting about, not high school. All through Sam’s happy babbling, Dean couldn’t help but grin too. It was cool that his brother was happy. It was all he ever wanted growing up, for little Sammy to fall in love and find something that he loved; but now little Sammy wasn’t so little anymore (in fact, he was a good four inches taller than him), and Dean didn’t have any other goals.

No goals other than sticking around for Cas.

“Oh, Cas? Yeah, he’s awesome.” He took a swig of beer and hoped that his hand and the beer bottle would cover his face enough for Sam not to read it. He couldn't have his little brother teasing him over some crush. A pretty strong crush, at that.

Thankfully, Sam didn't seem to twig. "Cas? Is that short for anything?"

"Yeah - Castiel. Get this, he's named after an _angel._ All his family are. I met a few of ‘em when we flew out to his sister’s funeral. They were dicks,” he added, tilting his bottle towards Sam.

Sam frowned in consternation but said nothing. Almost smiling fondly at the familiar expression, Dean checked himself and took another sip in the silence. He let his eyes wander around the bar and fix on a few features of different people, noticing the similarities between them and Cas. A young woman, around Sammy's age, had the same shade hair as Castiel, but it wasn't as mussed up. A man refusing to acknowledge his age had the jut of Cas's jaw, but it wasn't as sharp, and as Dean cast his gaze around for all the blue-eyed clientèle, he couldn't help but turn his nose up at their inferior colours.

Smirking, Sam commented, “And here we see the 'Dean', in his natural habitat. If we keep watching, he will attract a temporary mate with the act he likes to call 'flirting'.”

“Shut up, dude! I can flirt! And I’m not doin' any attracting temporary mates or whatever, David Attenborough. That's not how I roll. Like, not _roll_ roll,” he quickly amended with a rolling hand motion, “I mean that that's not what I do anymore. And yes, I know your name is _Sam._ ” _And that you hate any nicknames I give you, unlike some,_ he silently remedied.

Sam eyed him with skepticism, putting aside any sarcastic remark he was going to make to say in a bored, flat tone, “I know what you mean, Dean. I lived with you for eighteen years, and when you hear metaphors and references in every other sentence, you have to learn to live with that, too.”

“Sorry, I just get used to explainin’ things to Cas, I guess.” Though his words were apologetic, his shrug wasn’t. How could he apologise for anything when it came to Cas? He wondered what Cas was doing right now. Hopefully not getting too lonely. Dean had suffered from that for far too long, he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Then again, maybe Cas was enjoying his ‘me time’, away from the hums of Led Zeppelin and the inane babble of how the new Star Trek movies compared to the original ones.

However, it looked as though a light had switched on in Sam’s head, and he tentatively began, “Oh, is he...mentally impaired? You should have just said that you were his carer! Then the whole thing wouldn’t be so weird.”

Dean was about to clarify that Cas was just too literal, but the last few words that came out of Sam’s mouth stopped him in his tracks. “...Weird?”

“Yeah, _weird_ , Dean. I mean, you know this guy for a month and you’ve already met his family? And you went to his sister’s funeral? Did you even know her?”

That took Dean aback. “Well, no, but I -”

“It’s weird.” Sam was resolute in his contention, using what was no doubt his ‘lawyer’ voice. “You’re not the kind of guy who just has friends. You know who was the last friend you had? Neither do I. You’ve always just been a lone wolf, or at least that’s how _you_ put it anyway.”

The brothers were silent for a moment, the hubbub of the bar gradually soaking into the awkwardness between them.

“Cas isn’t mentally impaired,” Dean quietly seethed. “There’s nothin’ wrong with him. He might be a bit...awkward, but he’s still stupidly literal, extremely empathetic and goddamn hilarious. So I don’t care if you think it’s weird. He’s been a better friend than you’ve been a brother to me recently, so you don’t get to talk about him like that, okay?”

Sam clenched his jaw and gave a taut, tiny nod.

 _When did my little brother get so pissy in the non-adorable way?_ Dean mournfully wondered. “You know what? I’d better be going. I have to, uh...organise a few things at my place.”

“I should probably do the same,” Sam replied.

Downing the rest of his beer, Dean stood and grabbed his jacket. He tugged it on as he spoke. “Well, it was good seein’ you. We should do this again sometime, if you’re stickin’ around for a while.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking up at Dean for the first time in a very long time, “Jess and I were thinking of doing dinner at some point in the week. You should join us.”

Dean paused. “Can I bring Cas?”

Sam shrugged, his face clouding over with something Dean did not like in the slightest. “Sure, whatever. I’ll text you the details in a couple of days.”

“See ya.” Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, eliciting a glare.

Rubbing his shoulder with exasperation, Sam called, “Bye.”

 _What. The. Fuck._ Was Sam on his period or something? Or did Dean just disgust him that much? Whatever was making Sam into a prissy bitch, it wasn't doing anything for his self esteem. Dean wanted nothing more than to run back to Cas and cuddle in a manly fashion.

 _Ahh._ Just _thinking_ about Cas made him relax a little. He could go back, and they'd watch TV, and use Cas’s shirt like a tissue. Because Dean would inevitably cry, and snivel like the hurt little boy he was, and Cas would do the gracious thing and hold him and pretend like he hadn’t ever seen Dean cry before.

Catching a taxi back to Cas's, because crying in the back of a car was far more subtle than on a packed bus full of hooligans, plus Cas wouldn't like him walking around at this hour, he let himself in and cast his gaze around the darkness.

“Cas? You asleep?” Dean whispered into the quiet of the apartment. “I called a cab ‘cause I know how you got with me walking around in the night before, so...Cas?”

Castiel didn’t answer. Flicking the lounge light on, Dean’s eyes widened. The place was a mess. The cushions of the couch were skew-whiff, clothes were strewn halfway out of the bedroom door, and walking into the kitchen, Dean could see all the cupboards and drawers had been opened.

It looked like someone had broken in. In a sudden panic, Dean dialled Cas’s number, willing him to pick up, but the default ringtone of Cas’s phone sang from the bedroom. _Fuck._ “Cas? Where are you?" he yelled, opening each and every door in the apartment with near enough force to take it off its hinges.

When he couldn’t open the en suite door, however, Dean was simultaneously relieved and more distressed than he was before. “You in there, Cas?" he rattled the door handle, cursing the lock on it. _Why would a dude who lives alone need a lock for his en suite anyway?_ Dean thought in passing. He stopped his frenzied rattling to lean his head against the door. Closing his eyes and opening his ears to any and all sounds, he asked, “Cas? Are you - can you let me know that you’re alive in there?”

Heavy breathing and muted whimpers. Cas was in there.

“Can you open the door for me?” No movement was made from the other side. Dean took a deep breath and tried to delete all the scenarios and images his brain had come up with, but to no avail. “Okay, I’m gonna rephrase this. If you don’t open the door in ten seconds, I’m breakin’ it down okay?”

Upon realising that his concern could be mistaken for menace, he rephrased once more. “I work in construction, remember? You said it sounded interesting? I can get the handle off this thing and come and get you. No damage. I’ll even repair it after. Or, you can open the door. Your choice.”

Still no movement. Apparently, Cas had made his decision. Not having the time nor the patience to look for the tool box he suspected Cas didn’t own anyway, Dean made tools out of kitchen utensils and pried the door handle off, hearing Castiel start when it dropped off of the other side and onto the tiled floor, making a loud _clang!_ Immediately, he rushed in to find a sweaty Cas on the floor, wearing nothing but his tighty-whiteys and a crazed look, clutching his toothbrush and brandishing it like a dagger. Dean would have laughed if it were any other person in any other state, but this was Cas.

He slowly edged his way toward the curled up man on the floor who was wearing his friend’s skin, holding his hands up in a surrender and waving his open palms to show he meant no harm. Cas was still panting and his legs twitched, ready to kick and flail if Dean made any sudden movements.

“Hey, buddy. It’s me, Dean. Wanna put down the toothbrush?” Cas nervously shook his head, unblinking. His usually pink lips were pressed together with such stress that they had turned white, matching the face that all colour had drained out of. Reaching out for the toothbrush-wielding hand, Dean held Cas’s gaze, silently encouraging him to co-operate. _Come on come on come on..._

Dean gently drew the weapon out of Cas’s firm grip, smiling as he did so. He didn’t want Cas to think he was a threat. However, the unfocused blue eyes were still wide with terror, and instead of the firm line his mouth had been it was now moving around silent words, his lips sticking together every other word where they lacked the moisture of Cas's tongue. Dean snapped his fingers, attempting to bring Cas back to the real world, but Cas was still walking the line of out of it and the sudden noise made him whimper. Realising he had all the attention that Cas could seemingly give him, Dean tried to pull the dead weight up. He grunted, and tried again. Now, he was no weak man, but Cas’s butt was firmly glued to the floor.

Relenting, Dean slid down to join him. Cas grabbed at him and leant on him the moment he was in reach again, his eyelids fluttering with the effort of keeping his eyes open and wary. "It's okay, baby," Dean cooed in his gruff voice. The pet name felt perfectly natural, and he chose not to question it.

"You gonna let me carry you now?" he whispered while carding his fingers through Cas's sweat-matted hair. Dean grabbed a towel and lightly fluffed the dark mane with it, swiping it over his forehead and rubbing Cas’s hands with it. “You ready?”

Cas nodded with exhaustion, his eyelids drooping for the night. Scooping him up, Dean carefully manoeuvred them past the various obstacles that the burglars had set, and gingerly placed Cas on his bed. He left a kiss on his beaded forehead and caressed the side of Cas’s face before tucking him in, humming ever so quietly as Cas did whenever he was in a state of perturb.

Once Cas had settled, he began to tidy up the disarray in each damaged room, intrigued by every little piece of _Castiel_ that he found. Even the tiny items of his past made Dean smile fondly as he assigned each of them a backstory. The paper Krispy Kreme hat that Gabriel forced on his brother’s head, and took photo evidence of (that Dean had a mighty need to see), the tangled bunch of ties that was added to with each Secret Santa that passed at Cas’s work, the silver kaleidoscope that came with the inscription, ‘ _It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.’_ There was no doubt it came loaded with meaning for Cas, and perhaps Anna, but maybe that’s who it was from, and why it had been hidden amongst ties and keepsake paper hats.

All of these fragments enchanted Dean, but he set them aside for fear of intruding. Eventually, the place was spick and span again, but he couldn’t help but long to reorganise some of the décor so that _his_ belongings would fit too.


	11. Let It All Go and You'll Know

 Well. That was quite the regression. Castiel really had no idea what happened last night. Actually, he did, but he just didn’t _understand_ it, he was supposed to be getting _better_ , not deteriorating to the state he was in when he was a teenager. It had been months, _months_ since he had had an attack as bad as the one he had the night before.

He lashed out the only way he could at present, by harshly throwing off the covers that blanketed him and storming out of his room. Cas prepared himself to survey the havoc he remembered wreaking, but the spotless restoration of his possessions took him aback.

 _Dean._ All his frustration melted into a pool of warm honey, and Castiel felt as though he were swimming in it. Of course, the feeling could have been a side effect of the mediation he took. Disappointment swirled in with the honey, and guilt dived in after it. He’d promised himself that he would avoid taking it whenever possible, but last night...last night, he had reached the end of his tether. The message that had been left on his voicemail, the full memory of his drunken encounter with Dean that had floated to the surface, and the crutch he had relied on for two weeks suddenly not being there...it all drove him to the cabinet above the bathroom sink and freaked him out while he waited for the meds to take hold of his psyche.

When he heard that voice, that voice he had come to be soothed by, distorted like the automated train announcements at the abandoned station had once been, he locked the door of whichever room he was in, not wanting to see how his Dean had been possessed. However, no matter how much he did not want to see it and hear it, it was forced upon him anyway. ‘Dean’ shouted at him from outside the door, and the handle violently rattled with demonic force until the powers that surpassed mankind blew it off the door.

‘Dean’ edged towards him, saying something that sounded static-y, his words interrupted by different kinds of wavelengths. But as Dean’s pure, bright true form emanated through the abhorrent, monstrous mask, Castiel calmed. Dean was taking hold of his own body again, offering to carry Castiel’s.

And there it was again, the front door opening, and Dean’s declaration that he was home. Thankful that the abnormal noises had turned syrupy and lilting in just the right way again, he rushed to the soul who pulled him from his living nightmare and enveloped him in a tight embrace, uncaring that he was still just in his underwear.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean, _the_ Dean murmured into his hair, a little surprised. “You feelin’ better?" He rubbed his bare back, feeling Cas shiver slightly as he tickled over the blades of his shoulder.

Castiel didn’t answer. He simply held him tighter and breathed the high of comfort in. Dean re-wrapped his arms around Cas’s torso, ensconcing him just so. They stood there locked in a snug clinch for what seemed like hours, easing the worries from each other’s shoulders with soft, hot breaths and occasional encouraging whispers, not daring to go the one step further and whisper them into each other’s mouths like they both so wanted to.

Once they had pulled away, Cas finally relieved of the rigidity that wracked through his muscles, Dean grinned and said, “I have pie and Star Wars.”

Noting the spark in Dean’s demeanour, he asked, “What’s the special occasion?” and padded into his room, shucking on a t-shirt.

“Does it have to be a special occasion?” Dean called, almost fumbling over his words. Castiel charmed himself with the thought that Dean was probably blushing. “Can’t we share pie and watch A New Hope without it being something...I don’t know, momentous?”

“We could, but there’s something about it that you’re not revealing. I can tell.” Cas returned to the other man and stared pointedly at him searching his soul for the reason he was all brilliancy today.

Dean mumbled something incoherent, pushing past him and walking into the kitchen, where he had left the pie. “I didn’t hear you,” Cas called after him, frowning. Following, he found Dean slicing the apple pie and setting a couple of slivers on plates for them.

“Maybe you shoulda listened harder,” he sarkily retorted.

“Dean,” Castiel said, all patience and amusement.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and sighed. ”Because it’s our month-iversary,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, opening an eye a smidgen to gauge Cas’s reaction.

Cas tilted his head, a quizzical expression on his face. “What?”

“Because it’s our month-iversary!” he said, loud and rushed, wishing he could mop up the words that had spilled out of his mouth.

“Our...month-iversary?” Cas repeated, still puzzled.

Swallowing, Dean said, “Well, four weeks ago tomorrow, we, uh, _met._ And that counts as an anniversary. So I thought we could do this today,” he gestured at the pie and scratched his head as he took pause to collect himself. “and...I had an idea, of sorts, anyway, for tomorrow. You might not like it.”

 _Dean wants to celebrate the anniversary of me saving him?_ It did seem appropriate, though it was a notion that Castiel would never have thought of. It was...quite romantic, if he daresay. He and Balthazar had never celebrated dates and anniversaries and the suchlike. Balthazar had always said that remembering dates was trivial, and why should they just shower each other with more love and gifts on certain days? Balthazar was a spontaneous man, one who did not appreciate the gesture of Valentine's Day presents or even New Year's kisses. Life was one long celebration for him, and he never wanted that party to stop, even if it meant discarding Cas's feelings for the while.

But Dean wouldn't discard his feelings. Dean would validate them. That's if he felt the same way. Castiel remembered the rush of drunken hurt he felt when Dean near pushed him off the other night. _What had he said? Not...not..._ Cas couldn't recall his words exactly, but they were most likely, 'Not ever'.

Still, he was intrigued by the whole idea of a 'month-iversary'. “What would you like to do?”

Dean was visibly dumbfounded that Cas was going with this, his eyebrows attempting to kiss his hairline and his mouth parted in a sweet little 'O'. “Um, I mean, we don't _have_ to, and you'll probably think it's stupid and selfish, but -”

“Just tell me, Dean. I’m not going to think any of those things, you know that,” Cas encouraged, the sea of his eyes calming the other man.

“I uh, I...” Dean began, suddenly seeming very small. “I wanted to go to the train station,” he sheepishly confessed, glancing at Cas through his thick lashes.

Alarmed, Cas uttered, “The train station? As in... -”

“Yeah. That one. Is that alright?” Dean's gaze hadn't wandered from his face. It would have been unsettling to any other person, but Cas liked to think that it was a quirk of his that had rubbed off on Dean.

It seemed like the normal thing to do to revisit the location of the first encounter for an anniversary, but their first encounter wasn't like most others. Castiel would learn why when Dean was ready to tell him. “If that is what you desire,” he said slowly.

"Really?" Dean asked. With the way he said it, Cas supposed that he expected more of a fight.

"Really."

Shaking his head, Dean sighed, "You are too cool, man. Now, whaddaya say we kick back with some pie and watch Star Wars? I promise not to say the lines with the characters the whole time."

Cas smiled and professed that he didn't mind if Dean wanted to say the lines too, but Dean brushed it off, not wanting to ruin Cas's first Star Wars experience, and put the DVD in. As Dean had hoped, and as Cas had half-expected, they ended up making their way through the whole of the original trilogy and all of the pie. Sometimes, Dean would lean over and explain the little kinks that were ironed out for the new copies of the films, and then go back to mouthing the lines. He may have shouted, 'No, _Han's_ supposed to shoot first! Dammit, Lucas, we're not supposed to know whether he's a trustworthy guy or not!' and muted the TV when Darth Vader reached out his hand to who Cas learned was his son, but it was all justified with a glare.

When the final credits rolled after six and a half hours of engrossed captivation, they both groaned with the aches of their vegetating muscles and their expanding stomachs.

“Come on,” Dean urged in a yawn. “Let's go to bed.”

Cas stayed put, folding his arms and looking like a sulky toddler and a curmudgeonly old man all at the same time. Dean laughed a fully belly laugh, throwing his head back and letting go of all the tension that had build up in the past few days.

“I don't see what's funny about the situation, Dean. I am fine on the couch,” he curtly stated, locking his body in readiness should Dean forcefully move him, and sinking into the soft sofa. “What's funny?” Castiel demanded as Dean did not cease his light chuckling.

“You are, Cas. Expensive, but...very funny.”

Cas's brow furrowed, his face was pained with confusion as he stopped burrowing in the cushions for a second. “What?”

“The Sound of Music, man! There's hot nuns – well, _a_ hot nun – singing, Nazis...at one point a Nazi actually _does_ sing, but we don't know he's a Nazi by that point...anyway, it's awesome.” Cas was still none the wiser. He was too tired to listen to what Dean was saying, but was all too happy to just listen to his voice.

Dean stared at him, fixing him with an odd look before it turned dark and mirthful. “You want me to carry you again?”

Castiel only vaguely remembered being hoisted by strong, pure Dean to his bed last night, and feared that if it were to happen again, or if he were to carry Dean, then he would go against Dean's 'Not ever' wishes and take him right there and then.

“No,” he scowled, reluctantly standing and wearily marching to his room.

“Yeah, well...” Dean started, “you were damn heavy anyway!”

By the time they had brushed their teeth and got into their sleeping clothes (which had gradually lessened as their comfort levels around each other had gotten higher), they both felt fairly drowsy.

“I don't understand why I feel so fatigued,” Castiel said into the darkness. “All I did today was consume pie and watch three movies.”

Dean huffed and rested his head on Cas's chest, drawing circles on his full belly. “Sometimes, Cas, doing nothing can be freakin' tiring.”

“It's not something I’ve experienced before.”

“Well, you got me now,” mumbled Dean, “so you'd better get used to it.”

 _'I have Dean now_ ' was Castiel's last thought before he drifted off, the fuzzy feeling of being stroked like a cat soothing him, and the comfortable weight on his chest reminding him that someone was there.

* * *

“Are you sure that this is what you want to do?”

“Yes!”

“Are you absolutely positive?”

“ _Yes,_ Cas! How many times do you want me to say it?”

“Until I am happy that _you_ are happy with your decision.”

“Just put your damn podcast on.”

Dean folded his arms and stared out the window, counting lampposts. It was times like these that he missed being in the driver's seat, watching the world unfold before him. He could have pretended that he were in the Impala, but the fabric of the seats and the quiet engine were determined to remind him that he wasn't, and never would be again.

A couple of voices drifted over the speakers, and Cas seemed to relax a little more upon hearing them. “What's this one about?” Dean asked as he returned himself to his surroundings, previously too lost in his own thoughts to have been paying attention.

“I haven't really been listening,” Cas almost ashamedly admitted, nerves tugging at the corners of his mouth and pulling them into a tiny grimace.

He apathetically pulled into the empty parking lot, dodging the odd plastic bottle that rolled in their path and crunching empty chip packets that flew under the wheels. Almost immediately after Cas parked, Dean jumped out, ready to face the place that he was ready to die in a month ago. But like that day on the hill, Cas didn't follow him out of the vehicle, and exactly like that day on the hill, Dean went round and fetched him from the driver's side, pulling on his clammy hand as he walked into the waiting room.

Dean chose to go no further unless Cas was okay with it. Turning round, he hesitantly asked, “Are you...worried?”

“No!” he said, far too quickly to not be defensive. Cas sighed. “Yes. The last time we were here, you jumped in front of a train, and -”

“And you saved me. Cas, I didn't want to come here so we could re-enact it. I wanted to come because I wanted _closure._ ”

“Closure?”

“Closure, yes.” Dean tried his hand at the earnest expression that Cas had reassured him with in the past. “Like, I’m pretty much past the whole killing myself thing, for the while at least. It's hard to believe, I know; people don't just come back from that kinda thing. But just 'cause I can give a shit to keep living, doesn't mean I don't feel like taking myself out of existence, sometimes. But you know what? I ignore it. I say to myself, _'Get your lazy ass up, you can't stay in bed forever._ ' And even though I want to sometimes, I move past it. I tell myself that everything's gonna be okay. 'Cause I got something to live for. I got you.”

Cas nodded, and Dean could have sworn that he saw a tear or two welling up and blurring the blue of his eyes, but Cas blinked them away and silently ambled onto the platform, dragging Dean with him.

They stood overlooking the track that Dean had stood on, and instinctively, Cas placed a firm hand on Dean's chest, stopping him from sauntering any further forward than he allowed.

“Hey, that's the wall you pushed me against,” Dean pointed out, the hand on his chest spreading warmth that whispered, _'You are protected'_.

Cas nodded towards the usual spot he took whenever he was here before. The weeds that flowered were drooping with the cool weather, tucking themselves in for hibernation. “And that's the bench I first saw you on.”

Dean extended his neck a little, looking around the small, far billboard to see it. “That's where you were? No wonder I didn't see you, man. I thought I was the only one here, and then you just came out of nowhere...” His words petered out as he thought back to that weight upon him as he was sprawled out on the dysfunctional tracks, the weight then feeling so similar to the press on his heart today, murmuring mantras that coursed through his veins and shielded him from anything that might cause him harm.

“Can we sit on the edge?" he asked. Cas glared at him with doubtful eyes, but slowly walked them to the edge of the platform anyway, keeping a lookout for any oncoming locomotives. They dangled their legs off the precipice, ready to draw them back up should any trains threaten to painfully obliterate them.

Dean thought that Castiel had resigned himself to silence, speaking only when prompted, but was pleasantly surprised when Cas began, “Did I ever tell you how I found this place?”

He shook his head and watched his friend attentively. Cas pressed his lips together, searching for the right words to put the story together.

“I must have been around...eight or nine, and my brothers had finally let me join them in their escapades after school. Naomi didn't mind what they did so much – Michael and Luc couldn't really be controlled, and they were quite the force to be reckoned with, when they were on good terms. They were worse when they weren't. But as long as they came home before six and did their homework, all was well within the household.

“There had been a new student at the school that day, and I remember that he was new because everyone was talking about it. As you know, it's not often that people move here. They usually leave the town more than anything. Anyway, the boy was walking home, I think. He looked unfamiliar with his surroundings. I wanted to help him, to see if I could help him or walk him to his home, but as Michael and Luc were older, in high school and generally thought themselves above everyone else, which they still do, they thought it would be funny to taunt him. He was in my class, he was my age, and I didn't understand why they would callously mock someone who had obviously had a hard time adjusting to his new life. He was eight, Dean. And they were ten years older. What did they get out if it?

“And suddenly, I understood why they had brought me along. If it weren't that boy, it would have been me that they were...poking with a proverbial stick. I wasn't their brother, I was just a toy for them to play with, like this boy was. So I told the boy to run, called Michael an assbutt, and I picked up the first thing I found on the floor and threw it at him. And then I ran. I ran until I couldn't hear them chase me anymore, and I ended up here.

“I never saw the boy again, because my aunt decided that I needed home-schooling after my behaviour.” Cas sighed at the memory of his frustration. If he had been more controlled that day, if he had chosen his words to his brother more carefully, then perhaps everything would have turned out differently. Perhaps he would have been normal. “But I thought about him, and I wondered whether he got home alright, whether my brothers went after him, or whether he took a different route home.”

Dean cleared his throat. “He, uh, he took a different route home,” he said, his eyes glistening with the same memory.

His head snapping up, Cas's mouth opened in a shocked gape. “That...that was you?”

“Yeah. And it was you,” Dean said, wonder lighting up his features. “That's one hell of a coincidence,” he added in a mutter. Cas nodded.

“And _assbutt?_ What the hell was that?”

Laughing, Cas replied, “The only bad words I knew at the time. I thought that if I portmanteau'd them, then they would have the desired effect.”

"Assbutt..." Dean repeated softly after chuckling, and then he smiled the smile he saved for Cas and shifted closer. It just felt...right, to do so. He flicked his gaze between Cas's beautiful eyes and his gorgeous mouth, leaning in until he realised that Cas wasn't shutting his eyes, or even blinking.

“The other night...you said, 'Not – not ever', when I kissed you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You remember?” Dean asked, low and husky. Cas gulped and nodded timidly. “Well, you don't remember it all that well.”

A gentle gust of wind ruffled Cas's hair as he canted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ , that you're not remembering it properly. That's not what I said,” he whispered, leaning further into Cas's space. Caressing Cas's stubbly cheek, he clarified, “I said 'Not like this', you assbutt. Not when you were drunk. Not when I'd just near rescued you from some douche who called you _'Cassiel'._ Like this:”

With that, he planted a soft kiss on Castiel's surprised lips, wishing that he had done this far sooner, wishing that they'd broken the tension sober days ago instead of just seconds ago. He pulled away, gazing into Cas's eyes for a reaction of some kind, but Cas's eyes didn't say anything, and neither did his lips. Rather, they didn't _say_ anything, as much as they produced a guttural, lustful growl as Cas pounced on him, cradling his head to save it from the concrete of the ground. On top of Dean for the second time in the same place (more or less), Castiel took the chance to knit his other hand in Dean's hair and roughly take his mouth with his own, smiling against it as he felt the stirrings of Dean's arousal.

Dean tilted his hips upwards and let his indecisive hands wander Cas's hair, arms and body. It was only half a shock when they grabbed Cas's firm ass, promptly rucking up the trenchcoat and returning to knead it. Cas made a suggestive noise against his lips, encouraging them to let him lick in with his dexterous tongue. It felt electric – Cas making his hair stand on end, the near-visible sparks between their mouths, and the jolts of happiness and pleasure flowing through him. It was just a kiss, but everything about it was better than any sexual encounter he'd had with anyone else because it was with Cas.

“Cas,” he moaned as he felt the small kisses along his jaw and down his neck, “We should go back to yours,” Dean hinted before his mouth was captured again, and his lips were nibbled on.

“You have a _bed_ ,” he rephrased, willing Cas to understand.

Cas nuzzled his cheek and softly grunted right into his ear, “You had better hope that I can make it all the way home, Dean Winchester.”

They rushed half-hard to the car, their pace occasionally faltered by the urge to make out like teenagers. The journey back to Cas's was faster than it had ever been, the usual wait for stop signs and red lights filled with grabbing and groping and honks from the cars behind them to get going. In the elevator, Cas palmed at Dean's burgeoning erection, promising to give him a _real_ reason to shudder once they were in the bedroom.

Before they knew it, they were on the bed, removing each other's clothes in between heated kisses and panting like they'd run a marathon. Taking that as a cue to slow down, Cas let up his rough ministrations and explored Dean's body for a while.

“Is this...your first...time?" he asked in between kissing the man's neck, then keeping firm eye contact as he spanned Dean's work-sculpted body with his large hands.

Dean threw his head back into the pillow before forcing himself to do the horrible task of looking at the beautiful man laying between his legs . “Getting this far with a guy...yeah,” he answered breathlessly.

Cas crawled up him and placed a peck on his nose, then his mouth. “We'll go slowly.” He slid Dean's underwear off, his eyes lighting up as the thick, hard cock lightly slapped Dean's stomach, eliciting a groan.

“You might want to save that beautiful voice,” he seductively warned, getting comfortable between Dean's legs. He anticipated that he might be there for some while. Kissing the base of his dick and breathing in the musky scent, Cas licked a stripe up Dean's length, his penetrative eyes never leaving Dean's. Dean gasped and let out a hiss, running an encouraging hand through Cas's hair. It wasn't forceful, more of a rest for his grasping fingers than anything, something to remind him that this was _Cas_ , not some bimbo. This was his saviour, his friend, his best friend, and soon, very soon...his lover.

Cas licked around the reddened tip, dipping his tongue in the slit and making use of his hands by rolling Dean's sack in one palm, using the thumb of his other hand to stroke the sensitive vein on the underside of Dean's dick. Everything was Dean, and nothing could hold him back now. All the time they spent together, the embraces, the entwined sleeping...it had all led to this moment.

He engulfed most of Dean's hardness, his fingers fondling and rubbing where his mouth could not, and sucked hard. Dean thought he saw stars for a moment, but he realised that they were just the sparks of fascination in Cas's eyes at seeing and hearing all of Dean's positive reactions. A finger tickled at his hole, a strange, foreign sensation that he'd only dared play with very few times.

“Are you alright with this?” Cas asked, pressing his wet, pink lips to Dean's dick in butterfly kisses. Dean released a shaky breath, and nodded. Moving up so he was on top of Dean again, Castiel kissed him, long and deep. “Not yet. You're not ready.”

Dean was actually fairly thankful; he didn't know if he could process all of it at the same time. It might make his brain blow before his cock, and that was never a good thing. He slid his hand down the back of Cas's briefs, taking hold of his ass again and digging his fingers in as Cas ground their hips together. He could feel Cas's length, and just wanted to stroke it, to take it in his hand and see if it smelt as good as the rest of him. Dean pushed the other man's underwear down, tickling his thighs as he did so. Castiel huffed and moaned against his skin, arching his back. The movement alleviated the pressure on Dean's cock, and the rush of air to it made him shudder.

Cas knelt and pulled the material restricting Dean's view the rest of the way off, not missing the way his eyes went wide at the first cock he was to touch that wasn't his. Dean sat up, seeking permission in the other man's eyes, and stroked it. Cas groaned, and the wonderful sound only egged Dean on. He made a circle with his fingers and thumb and ran Cas's cock through the hole, moving his wrist back and forth, back and forth, getting a little faster each time. Cas was panting now, his head lolling back and his eyes closed. Taking the opportunity to make Cas feel good, he reached for him and pulled him back on the bed, turning as he did so, so that he was atop Cas this time.

He smiled a small, sweet smile, one of Dean's favourites, the one that he _finally_ got the chance to kiss off. Starting there, he kissed his way down Cas's lean torso, thumbing at his nipples and in the creases of his marvellous hip bones. When he reached the dark mass of curls that surrounded Cas's dick, he took a moment and a breath to collect himself. He was so new at this. What if he wasn't any good? What if Cas pushed him off, disgusted with his inadequacy?

Cas reached down and held his chin in a hand, caressing the back of his head with the other. He smiled again and suddenly all of Dean's fears melted away. Dean licked at the sticky head of Cas's shaft, slightly surprised by the salty tang of his precome. Dragging his kiss-swollen lips down to the base, he kept a thumb circling the top as he tasted the rest of him. It was glorious, hearing Cas make noises like he was making right now. Deep, stunted vowels that were barely vocalised properly – he loved it. He'd had a taste when he'd given Cas the massage, but these were different. They were pure, unadulterated ecstasy, and if sucking his dick was the way to hear them, then Dean wanted to do it every day.

He attempted to take Cas down further than he should have, and choked a little. Dean pulled off, coughing and spluttering until he got his breath back, and glanced at Cas worriedly.

“It's alright,” Cas soothed, rubbing the back of his fingers on his cheek. He swiped his thumb around Dean's mouth, collecting all the trails of saliva that had webbed out, and coaxed it through his lips. Dean sucked on Cas's thumb, swirling his tongue around it until the panic had worn off.

He tried again, slower this time, enjoying the stretch of his lips around the hard length. Dean swirled his tongue around the head as much as he could, trying to replicate what he had done with Cas's thumb. Bobbing a little lower, he met Cas's eyes through his lashes, feeling the encouragement radiate through him like sunlight. A hand wandered up Cas's body to seek another, and Cas's fingers all too happily obliged it, threading with the others and holding one another.

When his jaw grew a little tired, and when he could tell that Cas was holding back from thrusting into his mouth, Dean slithered up to press a sloppy kiss to Cas's lips, still holding his hand. They had held hands a hundred times before but this time it was different: it was charged full of everything they had felt, of everything they wanted to do but would only express in a squeeze of each other's palm. The slow, slick slide of their mouths and their erections evoked more moans and harder presses. Dean straddled Cas, his hips granting access everywhere to Cas's cock. He rutted against it, letting it slip between his ass cheeks, tease his hole and go back to stroking his own dick.

Their hands sought each other's again, and this time, Cas took advantage of Dean's bliss to flip them around again, his legs still between Dean's straddled ones. Shifting so that he could get better leverage, Cas pulled at Dean's thighs, moving his calves so that they rested on his back. Dean moaned at the new angle, and Cas kissed it right out of his mouth, grinding harder and groaning at the new friction. They let their pelvises and their pent-up libidos take the wheel as they rutted harder against each other, increasing the pace when one whispered “Faster”, the other granting it and tugging both of their lengths at the same time in a tight circle that barely did the job of encompassing them.

With the addition of deft fingers, Dean spurted his release onto his stomach and Cas's hand, determined not to pass out from the pleasure until Cas had come, too. It only took a couple more pulls and a kiss and Cas was there too, his thick hot come marking the both of them as each other's. Their tongues found each other again, and before Cas drew away to fall next to Dean, he scooped two fingers across their stomachs and let Dean lick them, shy eyes contrasting the bold move.

“We taste good,” Dean murmured, kissing Cas once more so he could get an impression. Cas hummed and shut his eyes, no longer from building pleasure but from the aftermath of it. The warm glow of post-orgasm was something he always forgot about. He basked in it for a while and snuggled closer to Dean, who was feeling similar effects. Their joint release was drying on their chests and stomachs, and they would feel filthy when they awoke, but there was no rush to rid themselves of it. It was their first time together, and they wanted to savour every part of it, especially the filthy parts.

Castiel kissed his shoulder, the one that Dean had had the ugly-ass bruise on after Cas had pushed him out the way of that train. ”Happy month anniversary, Dean.” Dean chuckled.

“Happy month-iversary, Cas.” 


	12. No Hesitation and No Holding Back

Castiel looked so sweet when he was sleeping. He was mostly still, apart from the times that his extremities sought out the cooler parts of the bed, or when he would shift himself around Dean so that they could hold each other without the disadvantage of losing feeling in an arm. Sometimes, he would be _too_ still, and Dean would reach up to hold his nose so Cas would be forced to take a deep breath through his mouth and make his chest rise. The kinds of dreams he was having were evident by the small expressions his face would make. If it was a good dream, then Cas would nod occasionally and give away just a hint of a smile, but if it was a strange one, then he would frown and twitch his lips, reminding Dean of a perplexed bunny rabbit. An extremely cute perplexed bunny rabbit.

He knew this because he'd been watching Cas sleep and dream for almost two hours, unable to sleep properly himself. And if Dean kissed him every so often, it was only out of disbelief that he could actually do that now. Picking at the dried substance on Cas's stomach, he was reminded of their...coupling the night before, but that wasn't saying much. Everything reminded him of it: the residue of their release on his stomach, the smell of sweat and sex still permeating the air, and the twitch of his dick as he appraised Cas's lean form.

As he dragged his bright eyes up and down the handsome man that was his boyfriend - _could he say boyfriend? Were they boyfriends? Were they ready for labels?_ \- Dean drank up all the little features that he wasn't allowed to notice before. Even with all the stolen glances directed Cas's way, he never realised that Castiel was almost as broad as him, not even when he'd given him that massage. It was that damn trench coat that hid his magnificent structure, the thick fabric of it swaddling his shoulders and leading Dean to believe that Cas was all material and no might. Looking now, he could see that it was the exact opposite. He'd have to take a picture of Cas at one point (preferably naked) and set it as his phone background.

Lifting the covers ever so slightly, Dean snuck a peak of Cas's legs, and what laid between them. The dark hairs of his legs and the identical smattering of his happy trail tantalisingly met at Cas's pelvis, exploding into musky curls that nestled his cock. It wouldn't hurt to just stroke it, right? Dean had been sated last night, but he had the urge to explore everything _Cas_ and hear those wonderful noises again. And there was only one way to improve his technique.

Sliding his hand down Cas's belly, he turned on his side and stuck his face in Cas's neck, breathing in his scent and circling a finger down the hair that trailed to his dick. Dean palmed the soft length, feeling it harden in his hand, drifting away every so often to run his fingers on the velvety insides of Cas's thighs. Cas keened whenever he did so, only quietly, and only with enjoyment at Dean's light teasing.

He mouthed at Cas's neck, sucking and gently biting at his pulse. The strokes were still slow and unhurried, but the still-sleeping Castiel was undulating his hips, willing them to quicken the pace while Dean did not give in with his own tempo. Although the build up had been slow, last night had been frantic as they had deliriously relieved their charged feelings, pent up for so long - what seemed like an age.

This morning would be different, Dean was going to make sure of it. He twisted his hand on the upstroke, and the movement got a damn good reception.

"Dean..." Cas rasped, his hips stuttering. Dean couldn't tell if he was awake or not but he liked the way that desperation and lust tinged the other man's voice. He kissed Cas's neck in response, ignoring his whines and smirking against it when Cas drowsily muttered something about waking up like this every morning. Dean felt fingers rest on his cheek and claw through his hair as he upped the speed of his wrist.

“Do you remember when you went back to work that time, last week?” Dean purred.

Cas let out a moan of debauchery as Dean pulled on his dick a little harder, a little slower. “Yes, but I don't see why -”

Dean shut him up with a firm kiss, and all speech eluded Castiel. “While you took a shower, I jerked off in this bed and came as I pictured you walking in on me.”

Come erupted over Dean's fist, coating it in thick, white stickiness and spurting onto the sheets they were under. He looked into Cas's eyes, so blown from his high, shocked from Dean's revelation and putting the pieces together for Dean’s mood that day, and still tired from his sleep. So gorgeous. He went to lean in for another kiss, but a hand flew up to stop him, slender fingers resting on his jaw.

“I want to...I want to look at you awhile longer,” Cas breathed, his ragged intakes slowly righting themselves. Dean felt like his eyes were a searchlight on his face, the glow of them warming his features with affection. “Do you want me to...?" he trailed off, glancing at the tent Dean was pitching.

Dean shook his head, partly as an answer, and partly in disbelief that he was turning down sex. “Nah, I’m good. This was for you, I didn't want to get you off so you could do the same to me.”

“If you're sure...” Cas's fingers walked down his torso, dipping in and out of the bumps of Dean's abs. “It'll only take a few minutes,” he added, remembering to lick his lips in the first time since he awoke.

With an 'ugh' not dissimilar to the kind one might hear in 'Clueless' (which Dean totally hadn't watched and secretly loved), Dean retorted, “I'm offended that you think my stamina's that pathetic!”

Cas just chuckled and murmured, “Another time then, when I’m haven’t just woken up,” and gestured to the bathroom, hoping Dean would understand what he meant. Of course, Dean did, and fetched a wetted towel to clean themselves with. “You could have at least warmed the water,” Cas muttered after he gasped with the chill of the dripping water after their hot morning session. Dean simply kissed him and returned to the bathroom to shower. He needed get rid of the raging boner he was sporting. It still didn't quite know why he refused the returned favour, even if his heart was happy with making Cas have his second Dean-induced orgasm within a nine-hour renewal period.

He changed into the only clean clothes he had left, a pair of faded jeans and a green plaid shirt. Dean made a note to swing by his place a pick up a few more items of clothing. With a realisation that dawned on him faster than the actual dawn came, he frowned as buttoned the last few holes on his shirt and curiously asked, “Hey Cas, are we, like, living together?”

Cas frowned, weighing up the facts. “I think we are,” he said with a shrug, appearing indifferent to the information.

“And is that okay?” Dean worried. He hadn't lived with anyone since he lived with Dad and Sam. Obviously he wasn't _too_ dreadful of a roommate, as Cas hadn't kicked him out, but he was still apprehensive as to why Cas wasn't bothered about it.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel answered bemusedly. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“I don't know,” Dean started, flabberghasted, “because we've only known each other a month, or because...I don't know, _because?_ ”

Realising that he was being completely sincere in his insecurities, Cas stared at Dean for an incredulous moment before huffing and asking, “Why are you fighting this? I have enjoyed the company, and I have taken extreme pleasure in the fact that that company is you.”

“I'm not fighting it, I’m just...confused, I guess,” Dean replied as he scratched the back of his neck in discomfit. “I wanna live with you, but what if this doesn't work out? What if we lose each other because we acted on our feelings?” There it was, his fear out in the open. He couldn’t be lonely again. This phase of contentment was exactly that, a phase, and though Dean knew that eventually he would slide back into sadness and despair soon, like always after a short stint of bliss, he couldn’t have the trigger being Cas leaving him.

Castiel sat up, firm and resolute in his expression and words. “I don't believe that that will happen.”

Dean exhaled a nervous laugh. “You really think we're gonna be forever?”

With equal assurance, Cas reached for his hand to pull him back on the bed and shuffled so he was cross-legged and facing Dean head on. He wore a soft, knowing smile that shone through his eyes, and everything else seemed to quiet in Dean’s mind as Cas said, “It's a little early to talk about forevers, but I have faith in us, in our friendship _and_ our feelings. Can't we just... _be,_ for the moment, and not concern ourselves with the future?”

They were wise words, almost familiar too, and Dean couldn't think of a logical reason why they couldn't do that. “You're right,” he said, leaning across to steal a kiss, “but I’m gonna go to the grocery store. If I’m living here permanently now, we're not gonna survive on what you got in your fridge.” He was pulled into a deeper exchange of breaths, lips and tongues, and groaned at Cas's beautiful bedroom eyes when he drew away. Cas pointed towards his wallet, insisting that Dean pay with his money. He was on paid leave, after all.

As he walked out the bedroom door, he smirked as Cas called after him, “You bought everything in my fridge when you went to the store last week, Dean! And don't think I didn't notice you wearing my underwear!”

* * *

Grocery shopping was strange without Cas. Having been in his presence for hours on end to suddenly have their tether broken by the need to stock up, Dean had to cherish the thrill of wearing his boxers throughout the store to make up for the loss. _Shopping._ It was so...domestic, and Dean found himself loving it. He would have insisted that Cas come along, but the mere idea of picking out food for _their_ fridge and _their_ cupboards excited him to no end, and he wanted to do it alone to prove to himself that he could and not just when he was panic buying to get back so Cas wouldn’t be by himself for too long. Being sad alone sucked, and he hadn’t wanted to force that upon him because he was out too long umming and ahhing over which brand of pasta to buy. Before Castiel, he had ordered take out, bought anything he could microwave (including fries), and couldn't find joy in cooking like he thought he might have the potential to. Now, he loved it. He loved seeing his food entice the man who wouldn't eat. He loved seeing Cas's face as he realised that Dean was cooking. He wouldn't swap those moments for anything, and now that his mind and body enjoyed making themselves at home in the kitchen, he hoped that they could be happy in places they never used to be, even if the place were as menial as a grocery store.

He finished up his mental list, paid with Cas's cash while inwardly making a few Pretty Woman references, and walked briskly back to his new home. _My new home...hmm._ Dean made a note to ask Cas about paying his half of the rent.

Dean gracefully didn't almost drop the shopping bags letting himself into the building, and he totally didn't have to press the button for the elevator with his foot because the bags were getting heavier with every minute that passed. Itching to see Cas again now that they had...consummated their feelings for the second time now, so to speak, Dean willed the elevator to speed up, and near on ran into Cas’s - _their_ apartment with the shopping, feeling a longing pang to kiss his boyfriend. He smelt something delicious wafting through the air and figured Cas was in the kitchen, cooking up the last of what he had in his - _their_ bare cupboards.

 _Fuck._ Even the back of Cas was enticing. He was hovering over the hob, pushing bacon around in a frying pan, shirtless. Broad shoulders tapered off to a narrow waist and a delectable behind hugged tightly by his choice of jeans. The dark brown hair topped off the image, still messy and puffed up from last night, with a hint of sleep added to the concoction.

Dean put the brown bags filled with his and Cas's favourite foods on the table and slowly walked up to him, his hands sliding around Cas’s chest in an embrace. He kissed his shoulder and murmured into his ear, “Honey, I’m home,”

“I’m not sure that I am too fond of pet names, Dean. Whilst I do admire bees for their hard work and abilities to make honey, I do not wish to be named after the fruits of their labour.”

Dean buried his face in Cas’s neck, grinning helplessly. “It’s from The Flintstones, Cas.”

“Ahh,” Cas smiled, “A reference. Even so, I prefer it when you call me ‘Cas’. I like that no one else calls me that. It’s yours.”

“And no one else calls me ‘Dean’ like you do,” Dean replied, caressing the firm, soft skin of Cas’s chest. “I swear, when you say my name, it means so many things. You say ‘Dean’, but I know what you’re really trying to say.”

“And what’s that?”

Dean contemplated answering with what he really thought, but batted it away. It was too soon. He wanted that certain exchange of words to be special. “That I’m awesome, obviously.” Cas hummed absent mindedly and carried on flipping the bacon sizzling in the pan. Kissing his neck a couple of times, Dean sat down to check his phone.

_**Sam:** _  
_**Dinner tomorrow night? Want to introduce you to Jess.** _

**Dean:**  
 **Sure. Can I bring Cas?**

_**Sam:** _  
_**Go ahead. I’ll let you know the time and place when we’ve booked a table.** _

“Say, Cas, you up for meetin’ my little brother and his girlfriend tomorrow night?” Cas spun his head around to face him, his blue eyes wide with fear and his mouth open in the shape of five questions at once.

“Tomorrow night? But I don’t have anything to wear! What if he doesn’t like me? Does he know about us? What if I have an attack? I don’t think I’m prepared for this, Dean. Can’t we make it next week?”

Dean held out his hand for the panicking Cas to take, and quietly soothed, “Hey, hey! It’ll be okay. We can buy something for you to wear. He’ll like you because I frickin’ like you, a _lot,_ and you’re gonna be awesome.”

“But Dean, I _can’t_ talk to people, I can’t. Much less your brother and his girlfriend. I know Sam means the world to you, and...I don’t want you to have to choose between us,” Cas confessed, casting his eyes to the floor.

“Choose between you - wait, what? Where would you get that idea?” Dean was appropriately aghast.

Setting the pan on a lower heat, Castiel sat opposite him, relinquishing Dean's hand to place both of his own over his face. “I forget that you don't know...” he muttered into his palms. “It is only you, only you, Balthazar, Gabriel and Anna – well, before she...you know. I can only speak to you like this, without worrying about what I’m going to say, if it's going to be misunderstood, whether the words I think will come out of my mouth in the right way...”

“You don't have to say anything. You can just sit there and look pretty, I promise. We don't have to tell them that we're together; as far as Sam knows, we're just two dudes who are friends. So I don't want you worrying, okay?” Cas nodded, his fingers still over his features, so Dean took his hands away from his face, not dissimilarly to the way Cas had with him once, not wanting to miss any expression that stifled itself. “Now, what do you say we go to the mall or something after we've eaten? We can look smart _and_ see if we out-happy the happy couple.”

Cas gave a small smile and served up the bacon in grilled cheese sandwiches. He gave Dean a peck on the cheek as he put his plate in front of him, and laughed into it as Dean tried to move his head so that his mouth could take his cheek's place. As they ate, their feet intertwined under the table and hooked onto each other as easily as the owners of them had.

* * *

Castiel was caught between caring and not giving a fuck as the people of Haeds stared at their interlocked fingers, swinging when the mood took them, although the latter seemed more pleasing when Dean appeased him with smiles and comments on said passersby as they shot them dirty looks. They had gone into a few shops, but nothing had been bought due to both of their fastidious tastes in their clothing. Castiel had said that he couldn't remember the last time he went shopping, and Dean had replied with the same statement. Apparently it was high time that he buy something new. Why shouldn't he treat himself to a new suit? He did have many ties that would go with it, should he buy one. Cas had also asked how Dean's meeting with his brother went the other night, as he was...unable to ask when Dean got back, but he simply grunted and fixed a neutral look on his face, one that Cas was wary and determined to get to the bottom of.

Dean was about to drag him into a shop with the name 'Outlawed Plutoid' ('Yeah it's a rip off, but it's the closest we've got, so let's go!' Dean had said, ignoring Cas's comments about the questionable action figures in the window) when a burly man shouted Dean's name from across the street. Cringing for a millisecond, Dean turned to face the oncoming man with a smile.

“Hey, man. How's it going?" he greeted, faux friendliness decorating his voice.

“Good, I’m good, thanks. I’m more worried about you, dude,” the man whose hands were smeared with grime proclaimed. “We haven't seen you back on the site since your accident. Everything okay?”

Dean froze before he forced a nod, laughing good naturedly at his former colleague’s worries. “Yeah, everything's fine. I, uh, I had to quit 'cause of a family emergency.”

With a shake of his head and a wide grin, he remarked, “Always with the family emergencies, Winchester! We shouldn'ta been surprised when you almost fell off that building. Must run in the family!” The man guffawed and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Well, see ya around, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you around,” Dean said, waving him off and turning to a thunder-faced Cas.

“You quit your job,” Cas seethed, “to look after me?”

Dean frowned. “What? No, I mean, I didn't work for a while so I could, but -”

“The fact remains the same, Dean. You, you _quit_ your _job_ to look after me. When you hardly knew me.”

“You probably woulda done the same for me! Cas! Cas, come back here!” Dean called after him as he skulked off into the crowd, disappearing into a throng of chatting bodies and leaving Dean with nothing but the flap of his tan trenchcoat in the winter breeze. Rounding the corner into a suit shop he remembered buying something from but never wearing, Cas picked out something completely different to what was in his wardrobe and made a beeline for the changing rooms. He was treating himself.

He could not _believe_ that Dean had done that. It was a wonderful and admirable gesture, certainly, but not one that he could permit. Of all the selfless things that Dean had done, this topped all of them, and incensed him no end.

Angrily removing his clothes to try on the new ones, he heard Dean breathlessly ask the shop assistant if she had seen a guy wearing a trenchcoat and a frown that made him look cute. Cas garnered she confusedly pointed towards the changing rooms, judging by the amount of time it took for Dean to find him.

“Cas?” The small, anticipation filled voice came, hanging around the only drawn curtains in the changing section.

Castiel glowered at where it came from, hoping that Dean could feel it through the black material that separated them. “Go away,” he growled, zipping and buttoning the suit pants he was testing out.

“I didn't give up my job. It was gonna happen eventually, I mean I was working less and less, and then...I just didn't work. Not to look after you, but...okay, yeah, I can't think of a better way to put it. But you were – you _are_ more important to me than any job, you got that?” Dean admitted through the cloth barrier, sighing and no doubt wincing at his confession. “Cas? You gonna come out or are you gonna let me in?”

His heart beat faster as he processed Dean’s words, but still denied him entry. He wasn’t getting away with his winning altruism _that_ easily. “Neither. I am not dressed yet.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “Dude, I saw you naked _this morning._ What's different about this?”

“The difference is is that I am not giving you my consent to gaze upon my naked body,” he curtly replied, taking the shirt off the hanger to put on.

Cas could almost see the surrender of Dean’s hands. “Alright, alright, no need to get all social justice on me.”

“I will let you in when I am clothed, Dean. I am sure you can be patient.”

“Not when it comes to seein' you,” Dean muttered. Cas slipped on the jacket, fastened the button, and drew back the curtain enough for Dean to come in.

Dean's green eyes widened and glazed over, and he let out a low whistle. "That suit," he choked, “is _hot_.”

“Really?” Cas distractedly wondered, checking himself out in the mirror.

“Yeah...you got like a Spock-y - Tenth Doctor thing goin’ on. I like it.”

Cas ran his eyes up and down his own reflection, taking in the blue of the suit. It wasn’t garish enough to be offensive to the eyes, nor was it dark enough to be misconstrued as navy or black. It was just right, and even brought his own blue eyes to attention.

“Say ‘fascinating’ for me,” Dean gushed, spinning him around and running his hands down Cas’s chest.

Squinting in suspicion, he asked, “Why?”

“Just do it,” Dean egged, taking on an almost pleading tone.

Castiel rolled his eyes and indulged him. “...Fascinating.”

Blushing, Dean’s eyes almost bugged out of his sockets. “Dude, I think I just got a boner from that.”

Despite himself, a smile played on Cas’s lips, and he preened in the suit, basking in the praises that Dean’s eyes sang. Calloused hands unbuttoned the top of his shirt, letting his chest peek through, and they grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him in for a slow kiss.

“I’m sorry I overreacted about your job,” he murmured against Dean’s lips.

“No need for apologies. _This_ more than makes up for it.” Dean ran his hands over Cas's dapperly suited chest, his voice dripping with arousal. His hands wandered down to Cas’s butt, and he rested his head on his shoulder as he fondled him, watching their reflection. “Your ass looks so good in this...” Fingers pulled at the zipper of Cas’s pants, and Castiel had to stop them in their tracks, leaving him with a bewildered Dean.

He sheepishly sighed. “My apologies. I once had...relations with someone else in a changing room, and I don’t want -”

“You don’t want this to ruin that memory,” Dean interrupted, peeved.

“No,” Castiel firmly said, taking Dean’s head between his hands. “I want to make new memories, not recreate the old ones.” He looked earnestly into his eyes until he was happy that Dean had accepted that he wasn’t rejecting him and his advances, he was simply postponing them. Dean shyly nodded, seeming embarrassed by his comment, so Cas rectified the mood by biting his lower lip and moving a palm down to squeeze Dean’s ass.

“I hope you realise,” he breathed, “that as soon as you’re ready, I’m going to take this ass and make it mine.”

Dean groaned into his mouth, and Cas took that as a _very_ positive answer. With a final contrasting soft peck, he said, “Would you like to stay while I undress, or would you like to see what I look like stripping out of it later, when we can do anything we want afterwards?”

“Later, definitely,” Dean whispered back, willing his erection to wait just a few more hours or so ( _at the latest,_ he reassured it). He left the changing room sexually charged and aching for a release of some kind, and while Cas was putting his clothes back on, he nipped out to the store opposite the suit shop and picked up a few items as a surprise until later.

* * *

They had made a detour to Dean’s on the way back, as Dean wanted to pick up his remaining clothes and start packing his life into boxes. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ he had said. ‘I ain’t got much’. But the first thing Castiel had noticed upon entering Dean’s apartment the second time was the guitar over in the corner.

“You play the guitar?" he asked, impressed and itching to hear Dean play and sing.

Dean grunted from his bedroom. “A little.”

Caressing the contours of the neck and body of it, Cas called, “Will you play for me?”

After a pause, Dean apprehensively grumbled, “Sure, why not,” and reluctantly entered the lounge to pick it up. Sitting on one end of his short sofa, Cas took his place at the other end, watching Dean with wonder and excitement.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Dean warned. “I haven’t really played in a while, and I’m not that good, and I can’t even sing.”

“I’ll love it anyway.”

Dean quirked his lips fondly and sadly, as if readying himself for Cas’s inevitable disappointment. But Castiel knew that whatever Dean did, it would be beautiful, and this was no exception. His hands started to move over singular notes, dancing upon them as he played the opening riff. Just as he took a breath to begin singing, calm chords rang out, filling the bare apartment with music and life, and Dean closed his eyes as he began to sing. “ _I can feel someone here, in the air tonight,”_

Castiel was captivated. Just from those two lines, he was totally entranced by Dean’s singing. It was gruff but melodic, and although filled with the anticipation of the next words, it was also filled with Dean’s nerves. But Cas didn’t mind. It was all beautiful to him.

“ _I’m waiting alone inside for survival, hiding in rooms so hot to the human touch...Brighten up my life tonight, before the candle flickers...”_ Meaning seeped through the lyrics as Dean attributed them to what was undoubtedly himself, and him before Cas saved him. He opened his eyelids as he got more into it, keeping Cas’s gaze and singing the next lines directly to him.

“ _Stand beside me, I will never let you fall.”_ Cas had to slow his breathing. The weight behind the words was building as a lump in his throat, one that was too heavy to swallow and there was a roughness in Dean’s voice now, one that saw Cas’s threat of emoting the song and tried to mask his own. “ _Stand beside me, I'll come whenever you call. I will take it to the wall...”_

He sung the last three lines again, his voice ever so slightly cracking as he held the shy, entrancing stare he was sharing with Cas. The last strum of the final chord filtered out, and they were left in silence.

"So," Dean said, clearing his throat. "What did you think? I'm pretty sure I fucked up the verses, and it was all outta tune, but -"

"It was beautiful," Cas told him with a wondrous timbre in his voice. "I loved it."

Dean snorted. "You did? I almost feel sorry for you and your low standards,"

“Stop that. I won’t have you demeaning yourself,” he chastised, taking the guitar from Dean’s hold and leaning it against the coffee table. “That was beautiful, and I loved it. _You’re_ beautiful, and I -”

He was cut off with a kiss, one that stoppered his words and almost stoppered his heart with the way that ‘ _Please don’t, not yet, I’m not ready to hear that yet,’_ was practically whispered into it. Dean lowered himself down under him, head relaxing against the armrest, his lips still locked with Cas’s. They completely lost themselves in each other’s mouths as Castiel settled on top of Dean, both of them chasing kisses around the other’s lips and trying to surprise each other with a random concoction of rough and hard, feather-light and soft, and deep and all tongues delving and tasting. Cas placed a precise thigh in between Dean’s own and started rubbing the hard place where they met with it, the different materials of their trousers creating enough friction to make Dean break the kiss to moan and bite his lip.

“I got a surprise for you,” he whispered against Cas’s mouth, a suddenly shy expression blossoming. He pushed Cas up a little, and began to ease off his pants, revealing a pair of pink satin panties. Castiel felt his eyes widen to the size of saucers. Dean looked so perfect like this - his cock straining against the soft material, a small wet spot from his precome staining them, and his eyes so dark and wide with anticipation.

Almost immediately, Castiel leapt on them, mouthing at the head of Dean's dick through the panties. “When did you get these?" he uttered in awe, pulling at the waistband of them with his teeth and snapping them.

“When you...when you were changing back...and you – you b-bought the suit,” Dean shakily replied, relishing the feel of the wet of Cas's tongue seeping through the material and onto his member. “And I bought – Cas! Oh God...I bought some other stuff for us, l-lube and, and condoms,” he panted.

Cas raised a brow, and sitting on his heels, tilted Dean's hips up so he could squeeze the globes of his ass and pull them apart in the hot pink satin. “You want me to...?”

With a breathless moan, Dean pushed his ass firmly into Cas's hands. “Yeah...I want you to make it yours, like you said earlier, and I want...I want you to – for you to -”

“You want me to what?” Cas lustfully purred, knowing _exactly_ what Dean wanted. But he needed to hear it out of that marvellous mouth of his. Cas needed to hear the words, to know the way that Dean said it, to feel the sting of pleasure in his lower belly as his mouth moved around the words.

Dean mumbled something garbled and then gave a cry as Cas slapped his rear. It wasn't so much a brutal spank, rather than an encouraging strike. The feel of Cas's hand on his ass awakened something in him, and reaching a hand up to bring Cas's head down to him, he boldly declared, “I want you to fuck me.”

A hungry kiss exhibited Castiel's want and need to do so, and clothes were hurriedly pulled off in favour of the cool air rushing against hot skin. Everything but Dean's panties stayed on, and he led them to his bedroom, clambering to retrieve the items he had earlier hidden. He set them on the bed for Cas to use, and made himself comfortable, placing a pillow under his hips and plumping the ones under his head, sliding an arm under them too.

Meanwhile, Cas was marvelling at Dean's exquisite body and the way his bright soul shined through, filling the room with the radiant light of his readiness and eagerness to give his body up to Castiel. When Dean was ready, he kissed him once and trailed his lips down to the wonderful panties, licking Dean's cock through them a few more times, keeping his eyes on Dean's the entire time. Slowly, he dragged the pink material down with his teeth, hearing a slap from where erect cock met stomach. He would never grow tired of that sound, he was sure, and with a warning glance he removed Dean's stroking hand from the newly exposed hardness.

Claiming Dean's dick with the warmth of his mouth, Cas concentrated on keeping him hard while he lubed a finger and caressed Dean's hole with it. “Relax,” he murmured into his skin, calming the new feeling of uneasiness Dean had with a low, soft voice. Cas slowly pushed a finger in, distracting Dean by sucking hard on his shaft. Dean mewled, and he took it as a cue to continue stretching him out. He pumped his finger in and out, allowing Dean to get used to the motion, and eased a second in when Dean was ready, licking around his cock the whole time.

He took his fingers out to dip them in the pot of lube again, and Dean whined at the emptiness. Welcoming the sound, Cas relieved Dean of the new itch he had just discovered, scissoring his fingers in that pretty hole he wanted to kiss and lick later when they were too spent to do anything with their cocks. His other hand wandered up to Dean's, clasping it and allowing Dean to squeeze it as hard as he wanted as a third finger entered him. Thankfully, it wasn't all that hard, and the constant slurp and suck of Cas's mouth of his dick forbade it to flag.

After a good ten minutes of Cas's writhe-inducing rhythm, Cas rolled a condom on his cock and slicked it up with a generous amount of lube. Before he eased in, he rubbed his member around Dean's rim, teasing the hole and tickling it in a way that was far too pleasurable to be funny.

“Are you certain that you want this?” came Cas's seductive tone, vibrating through Dean and making him push back against the pressure on his rim. Now that Cas had stopped playing with his dick, he had nothing, and he _needed_ it, he needed friction, contact, _anything_ that came from Castiel.

“Just do it, please, I want it, want it so bad, just _fuck_ me already, would you?" he breathlessly rambled, caught up in his own lust.

Dean's cock jumped as Cas stroked a hand up its length, encircling it and giving it a few more tugs. “It would be easier for you if you were on your knees,”

“Another position for another time, Cas,” Dean keened, “I wanna see you, I want _you,_ I want you to -” His words were betrayed by his own moan as Cas pushed in with shallow thrusts. Squirming, he tried to meet Cas's thrusts as he wanted it deeper, harder, but Cas was still doing the same movements, his eyes screwed shut as he panted, open mouthed.

Dean crossed his ankles behind Cas's back, bringing them closer together and widening his legs even more so Cas could drive in deeper, maddeningly slowly. He captured Cas's lips in an open mouthed kiss, the both of them gasping with the new feeling.

“Dean, you're so...so _tight_...”

“Deeper, Cas, I need you deeper, I need you -” Again, his sentence was cut off by another moan as Cas granted his wish. On one of the thrusts, Dean saw stars, and it definitely wasn't from Cas's eyes this time. More stars on another thrust. _His prostate_. It had to be. Dean rocked back on Cas's dick, tilting his ass to the angle that had it graze the star-maker on nearly every other thrust.

Cas's hand pumped his cock, and suddenly Dean was feeling twice the pleasure, his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach and the back of his brain, building and pulsing and rising in sync with the rhythm Cas was entering him. “Cas, I’m gonna...I'm gonna come, Cas, _Cas,”_ he breathed, clutching Castiel's face with his hands and drowning in the ocean of his eyes, gasping for breath and moaning into Cas's mouth when the waves of his climax hit him.

He rode it out, his ass contracting with the force of his orgasm and tipping Cas over the edge as he chanted, “ _Dean,”_ over and over again. More sensitive than he had ever been, Dean twitched in time with Cas's aborted rocks, their mouths meeting. They wrapped their lips and tongues around each other, exhausted from the pleasured noises they had elicited from each other, and they tiredly hooked their limbs around each other, pulling the other close and never wanting to let go.


	13. What Have The Years Of Your Life Taught You To Be?

Castiel checked his reflection once more, smoothing the new suit pants and brushing non-existent dust off his shoulders. He picked an imaginary piece of lint off his lapel and heard an agitated sigh when Dean strode over to him and tugged on his crooked tie, wondering how he had missed it after all the time he'd spent in front of the mirror.

“You look _fine,_ Cas. Stop worrying.”

“I can't _help_ but worry, Dean. This is an extremely important dinner, and I don't want – mmf.” Castiel rolled his eyes as he allowed Dean to stop his lips with his. When Dean pulled away and began to undo his tie, he haughtily remarked, “Just because you _can_ silence me like that now, doesn't mean that you should.”

Dangerously close, Dean's green eyes glinted with mischief as he asked, “Is that a challenge?”

Castiel scowled. “No,” he finalised, letting Dean adjust the tie he didn't realise needed adjusting. But then again, most of the time details like that weren't Cas's forte. Not when he was plagued with the crippling fear of Dean's brother hating him, or the unwelcome anxiety that he felt when he thought about how he was probably going to say all the wrong things, or let it slip that they were living together totally non-platonically.

Even the meds he had taken hadn't suppressed these thoughts. Castiel made a note to take a couple more before they left, and tried to settle himself for the meanwhile by watching Dean's face of concentration.

“And...done!” Dean said, patting the knot. “You know, you really shouldn't have worn your new suit. I’m gonna have serious trouble not ripping it off you at dinner.”

“I'm sure you'll manage,” Cas mused, revelling in the dark look Dean was wearing, as well as his ‘I-gotta-look-smart-but-not-like-I’m-trying-too-hard-dammit-Cas-you-got-an-iron-anywhere?’ ensemble, which consisted of the garb he wore to the funeral but with a blue shirt and a loose burgundy tie around his neck.

Dean turned his back to Cas to face his own reflection and nervously stroke the front of his shirt, smoothing down the tie and feeling the bumps of the buttons pass over his fingers. Behind him, Cas rested his head on his shoulder and brought a hand around to lazily stroke his stomach, the other fondling his ass. The muscles jumped under his fingers, and Dean winced.

“Still sore?” Cas murmured into his ear. Dean embarrassedly nodded, blushing ever so slightly. Nuzzling his neck, Castiel continued his ministrations on it, softer, and running his fingers lightly in the crease of his cheeks through the pants. “Would you like me to kiss it better?”

Dean shivered. “We haven’t got time, Cas, as...uh, _nice_ as that sounds. We gotta get going.”

“Maybe later,” Cas said, and the promise of _later_ hung in the air as they made their way to the restaurant.

Lafitte's was one of the nicer restaurants in Haeds, pulling in the more pleasant crowds with its upmarket menu and special policies upon entrance. The food wasn’t that expensive, but the atmosphere made it feel so. Sam and Jess were already at a circular table in the middle of the restaurant when they arrived, and Dean thought nothing of the extra chair when he and Cas sat down. Introductions were made, and ice was broken.

“So, Jessica. How did my little brother land someone like you? ‘Cause I gotta tell you - you are _completely_ out of his league,” Dean cheekily asked, attempting a little banter with the blonde woman. Of course, what he said wasn’t true. In fact, this conversation and this dinner was just a test to see if she was _in_ his brother’s league. Though, they did look good together, Dean gave them that. Jess was tall, Amazonian almost, with long, lean limbs and blonde waves that fell past her shoulders. Her pretty face lit up whenever she looked at Sam, and Sam had an identical expression of happiness whenever he looked back at her. _They’re so sweet on each other,_ Dean idly ruminated to himself, and quickly hoped that it wasn’t glaringly obvious whenever he and Cas so much as glanced at each other.

Jess laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m not so sure about that,” she commented, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “But I want to hear how you two met.”

“How we met?” Dean repeated, panicked. Had they realised that he and Cas were a couple?

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I told her that you’re not really one to make a lot of friends, and to have such a good one in a month, it’s gotta be a good story, right?”

Dean nervously huffed a laugh of relief, and he thought he saw Cas breathe a similar one. He was about to answer with something generic, like they met in a bar or something, but Cas placed a hand on his knee under the table, and answered, “We met in a train station.”

Stomach dropping, Dean hurriedly cut in, “Cas, I really don’t think -”

“What, the one they shut years back?” Sam frowned. Cas shook his head, surprising Dean.

“In one a few towns over. Your brother was working on a construction site there, and I was attending a fortnight-long conference. Both of our schedules synchronised, and we found ourselves at the same place and same time every day. On one of the days, I think it was the sixth day I had seen him, I was reading a book, and he asked me about it. We struck up a conversation, got to know each other, and here we are.”

“That's...surprisingly normal,” Sam said, his eyebrows lifting and the corners of his mouth turning down in surprise of the commonplace meeting.

Dean mouthed a silent ‘ _Thank you,'_ to Cas and continued the good-natured ribbing of his brother, throwing in a few embarrassing childhood stories. Just after their starters came, Cas excused himself to go to the restroom, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Dean asked, “So...what do you think?”

“I like him,” Jess remarked, a knowing gleam in her eye. _Fuck. She knows._ Dean just hoped that Sam hadn’t caught on.

Sam played with the corner of his napkin, a habit that he had picked up after his napkin-less childhood devoid of proper table manners, and Dean smiled with the thought that his kid brother was still in that sasquatch, his big hands unsure of what to do with the serviettes so tearing them whenever he could and toying with the corners when he could not. _Toys!_ Dean smirked. The tale of ‘Blankie the Bunny’ was one that Dean couldn’t wait to tell.

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Sam softly stated. “A little quiet, but...yeah. I like him. I’m glad you have a friend.” That was Sam’s way of apologising for the other night, and Dean gratefully accepted it.

A lump was building in his throat, but Dean swallowed it, managing a watery smile. “Thanks, man. Me too.” If Sam didn’t like Cas, then...well, he didn’t know _what_ he was going to do. Now there was just the small matter of telling him that they were living together, and dating. _Dating._ It didn’t quite seem like the correct word to use. Seeing each other? No. Falling in - no, definitely not. Maybe, but no. Love was dangerous, and _big_ , and Dean didn’t know how to feel it properly. He had certainly felt whispers of it against his heart, but he was sure that it couldn’t seep in and overtake him, pumping joy and bliss through his veins. No, the barriers around it were far too thick and high to allow that to happen.

But he was open to the possibility.

His eyes wandered to the restroom entrance as they had been doing since Cas nipped in there, and Jess must have noticed because when he mentally returned to his current company, she smiled and gave a small nod of her head. Inclining it towards Sam, who was splitting his gaze between his phone and the entrance to the restaurant, she raised her eyebrows in a question. Dean quickly frowned and shook his head, and Jess got the message. Sam couldn't know, not just yet.

Oddly enough, they didn't have to communicate silently for long. Sam excused himself, promising to be back soon, and then it was just Dean and Jess.

“So he doesn't know that you're gay?" she asked with trepidation.

Dean shook his head once more. “It's only Cas. Only him.”

Jess processed that for a moment, before saying, “You know, I don't think he would mind. He might be weirded out at first, but he'll grow to understand.” Dean cast his eyes down, and Jess added, “The story of how you met wasn't true, was it?”

“No,” Dean sighed in acquiescence. She was a smart kid. “It was _way_ more complicated.”

“And how long have you two been...?”

“Dating?" he finished for her. “I don't know. It doesn't feel like dating, what we've been doing. But we, uh, first _did the deed_ a couple'a days back.” He couldn't stop the smile from spreading over his face, and by Jess's, it was infectious.

Their silly grinning was interrupted by Sam's return, who stiffly sat down, and leant across the table to whisper at Dean, “Look, don't freak out, okay?”

“Why would I -?” And there he had it. The answer to his own question. Their father was striding through the tables, making a beeline for theirs. With all his rage and might, he glared at his brother, trying to suppress the anger and fear that was coursing through him and quickening his heartbeat to an uncomfortable beat. “What the fuck is he doing here?" he growled, all traces of his previous smile dissolved into the uncomfortable atmosphere.

Sam was defensive in every way, arms crossed, eyes unblinking, jaw locked. “Like I said before, I want us to be a family again.”

“That was weeks ago!” Dean flared.

“And I haven't changed my mind!” Came Sam's justificative reply. Jess laid a hand on his shoulder, calming him, and she spared a sympathetic look at Dean.

Their father slowed as he approached them, and he even had the gall to raise his hand in a rigid imitation of a wave. “Hi, boys,” he greeted. Jess stood to shake his hand and introduce herself, Sam said an awkward 'hi', but Dean stared him down, his jaw clenching and his eyes deadening as they usually did in the presence of his dad. “Dean,” he nodded. Dean stared back still.

John went to sit in the chair in between Dean and Jess, but Dean effectively stopped him by dragging the chair under the table with his foot. “Cas is sitting there,” he firmly said, not taking his eyes off of his father. John simply moved round to the other side of Dean, the empty chair in between him and Sam. A waiter came over and rectified their table's order, John adding a bottle of wine and a few beers to their drinks list, and then a deathly awkward silence came over the table. Even Jessica's bubbly personality was dulled by it.

“So, who's Cas? A girlfriend?” John gruffly asked, his cold eyes filled with mirth. Dean always hated that look. Every time his dad looked at him like that, Dean knew he was going to cry himself to sleep that night. That look, he was altogether too familiar with, and he still dreaded getting it even after he had moved out. At least his father couldn’t drunkenly yell at him about not being a proper man tonight. At least he could escape.

“A boyfriend, actually,” he bit, uncaring of the reaction until he got it. And right on cue, Cas came back and took his seat.

“I apologise for the length of my departure, there was quite the queue for the...” His words petered out as he noticed the new dinner guest. “Castiel Milton,” he presented, reaching a hand past Dean to shake the other man's.

John shook the extended hand offered to him, his eyes narrowing. “John Winchester.”

Castiel stiffened, his own eyes widening as he looked to Dean in confusion. The cute little head tilt was way on its way to being made, but it snapped to full attention as Sam spluttered, “Your _boyfriend?_ Dean, since when are you _gay?”_

Dean stuttered, and Cas stumbled over any words that tried to see the light of day. With a smack on Sam's arm, Jess chastised, “Sam! You can't ask things like that! That's so insensitive of you, I mean, _obviously_ they're happy, so -”

“Wait, you _knew_ about this?" he hissed incredulously, his voice jumping an octave.

Jess sighed and rolled her eyes. “You can be so slow sometimes,” she muttered, before taking Cas's hand and smiling at him and Dean with credence shining through her bright eyes.

But John still hadn't said a word. He was stoic and solid, nothing moving but his eyes, flicking between the newly outed couple with something Dean could only describe as disgust. He'd seen it often enough in his father's eyes, it was easy enough to recognise.

“Dean, what just happened?” Castiel leant over and murmured, bewilderment overcoming him. “How do they know?”

Baffled at his moment of verity mixed with insanity, Dean said, “I don't know, it just came out,”

“And apparently, so did you.” His father added, his words dry and his tone ominous. Mulling over his next jibe, John opted to try and change the subject. “Say, Castiel, you don't work for Higher Planes, do you?”

“I do,” Cas confirmed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“You wouldn't be the same Castiel Milton that I talked to to take the stupid iPod dock outta my car, would you?” John pinned a sheepish Sam (who dared to utter, ‘iPod _jack,_ Dad,’ through his teeth) with a glare. “Course, name like yours, I don't suppose it's all that common. You helped me out, and I didn't have to pay a penny.”

Castiel squinted as he searched his recent memories of working out a car deal to remove an iPod dock. He did recall something along those lines – it was his last call before lunch, on the day...on the day he saved Dean. What were the chances? His and Dean's lives seemed to be connected in more and more ways, what with the assbutt incident, and now this...Maybe if it had taken longer to process John Winchester's claim, John would have indirectly allowed his son to die. The thought made Castiel shiver with horror, and the hand he hadn't shaken with shot out to Dean's thigh, grabbing hold of the physical form that was here, that was real.

Dean barely felt the grab of his thigh, preoccupied with his own thoughts. Was his father trying to be the bigger man? Or was he just ignoring Dean? Sam was certainly itching to say something. He kept sucking his lips and swallowing breaths he was about to expel in the form of words, but it was his dad's silence on his new relationship status unsettled Dean to the point of distraction, even when their food came.

Jess and Sam filled the quiet of the table when they weren't eating, engaging John with tales of their classes and their peers. Throughout the courses and his copious drinking, though, John would innocently ask Dean a few questions, the innocence eventually fading away and revealing a malice that the table was far too embarrassed to end.

“Tell me, Dean, did you meet your boyfriend at a club? Sorry, a club for _your_ kind of people?”

“Oh, it was a train station. Is that a euphemism? Please, Dean, we're eating. We don't want to hear about that.”

“Enlighten me, Castiel; what made you single my boy out out of all the boys in the town? Because you're certainly not with him for his money, his job, or his car – do you have a car, Dean? Or did you ruin it like you ruined the Impala?”

“Well I guess if I'd have known you were gonna turn out like this, I'd have beaten it out of you. No offence to you, Castiel, you seem perfectly fine, but there's obviously something wrong with Dean here. I wouldn't bank too much on a lasting relationship - this is another one of his cries for attention.”

“Remember when I found you with your wrists bleeding? This is a little like that, isn't it? Lashing out with poor Castiel here, leading him along and making yourself bleed for my attention. Well, son, that's not -”

“That is _enough_ ,” Cas seethed, punching the table and ignoring the sounds of protest that the cutlery and crockery made. “We have heard you belittle Dean _all night_ , and it's going to stop. Do you understand? You stop it right _now_. Dean is a good man, and I cannot comprehend how he has grown up to be one with _you_ as his role model. You, a drunk, abusive, abhorrent man, who can hardly be called a father. I understand if you are confused about Dean's life choices, but I can assure you, they are _not_ a cry for attention, or a phase, or anything else you may think it is, because they are _Dean's_ life choices, and nothing you can say or do will change that. He is too strong, too pure to be poisoned by your words anymore. I will not have you continue to treat him this way, because he deserves better. So either you leave, or we do.”

John made no move to leave. He was a visibly shocked by Cas's outburst, but he stood his ground, looking to the college couple for support. They did not meet it. Instead, they cast their eyes down, ignoring the conversation that they had no part in. However, the whole restaurant was watching their table now, and no one was moving, so Cas got out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table, pulling Dean and dragging him out of the restaurant.

Before Dean started crying, he croaked out a small ' _Thank you'_. The tears were a continuous stream down his face, wetting his collar and his sleeve as he wiped his eyes with it in the car on the way home, dewing on the bannister as he unsuccessfully pulled himself up the stairs to his floor, soaking through Cas's shirt as he was half-carried into his old apartment, and dampening his pillow as he cried himself to sleep for the first time since Cas came into his life.

Only this time, he wasn't alone. There was someone murmuring comfort into his ears, and someone else wiping the tears away. Someone holding him as the sobs shook his body, someone rubbing his chest and tummy as he gasped for air and hiccuped all at the same time. Someone taking care of him when he was vulnerable and ugly and exposed to his very core. Someone loving him when he couldn't love himself.

He was really glad that someone was Cas.


	14. Where Do You Run When It's Too Much To Bear?

It was one of _those_ days. One of those days when Dean physically couldn’t get out of bed. It was as though his thoughts and worries weighed a pound each, literally pinning him to the bed and restricting his every movement. He hated those days. Not even Cas could pull him out of his funk, with all his attempts to lure him away from the bed with food and promises of a day out together. The thing was, that Dean couldn’t even identify the food that was cooking or even see a situation where he didn’t feel like shit, and when he got like this, his limbs turned to lead no matter how much he inwardly (and sometimes even outwardly) yelled at them. Dean inwardly yelled at his brain too, frustrated that it couldn’t even appreciate Cas’s efforts, but he had a feeling it was having a tantrum because Cas couldn’t stop the nightmare last night.

He thought it was real. His dream self was at the train station a month back, when he was about to jump on the tracks. He had looked around for Castiel, but there was no sign of him. He had made it all up. Of course Castiel didn’t exist. Who could put up with him, really? He wasn’t worth saving. He wasn’t worth loving. He was nothing. And while he was circling the spiral of self hate, he almost missed the oncoming train - almost. His father had come out of nowhere and pushed him in the path of it, gleefully laughing and watching as the train got closer. He locked eyes with Dean as it was about to split him into pieces and-

Cas had rocked him, kissing the salty tears from his face and tenderly stroking his hair, uncaring of the sweat that matted it. “I don't deserve you,” he had mumbled, sniffing and rubbing his nose into Cas's shirt.

“On the contrary,” Dean heard before he drifted off again, welcomed by images of Cas pushing him out of the way, only to be run down by the vehicle that should have killed him. _Another life I’ve ruined,_ his dream self had thought, and it took all his might to not think it consciously as well. Cas wouldn't like to know that Dean thought he'd ruined his life. Cas would get mad. Dean didn't like it when people were mad at him. He couldn't deal with it, just like he couldn't stand up to his dad.

He was pathetic. And he hated this apartment. Why didn't Cas take them to _their_ place? This bed was full of memories that the lumps in the mattress wouldn't let him forget, and the sofa had springs that niggled him almost as much as his inner monologue did. The only good thing about it was that he and Cas had had sex here, and that was about it. The apartment signified a time in Dean's life that he'd rather forget, and he couldn't wait to be completely moved out.

Dean mustered up all his strength and rolled onto his back, sighing at the ceiling. More cracks had appeared since he had last gazed upwards, and it had yellowed more, too. The door swung open, alerting him to something other than the state of his bedroom ceiling, and Cas was standing in the frame, sans food or anything else that could potentially cheer him up. Had Cas finally got the point that Dean just wanted _him_ , and not some thoughtful but stupid 'Feel better' gesture that he would inevitably reject?

But Cas just padded towards the bed, elegantly climbing in and not-so-elegantly throwing the duvet over himself, curling up into a ball under the covers near Dean's legs.

“Uh, Cas? You okay?" he rasped, his voice underused and filled with apprehension. The ball shook. “Wanna talk about it?” The ball shook again, and Dean didn't know what to do. Was this his fault? He couldn't help worrying that shooting down Cas's help had worn the man down and made him feel inadequate.

“You didn't listen to my dad last night, did you? You're not a phase, okay? This is...this is you and me, and we're together, and I want that for as long as you want that. Or if it's about today...I do really appreciate everything you do for me, I do. But sometimes, I can't...I just can't show it okay? Please talk to me. Please,” Dean choked, his features falling with the weight of the guilt he felt. The ball moved, stretching out and rolling between his legs, sliding up them and stopping as it got to his thighs. Warm hands traced the scars that he had almost forgotten about, the memory of the blood forced to rise to the surface of his thighs with a sharp blade stamped down until his dad had brought it up again.

Deft fingers lightly ran over the white lines. “I saw these the other night,” the ball softly said, muffled by the thick layer on top of it. “Where did you get them?”

Dean attempted a little referential humour. It was all he could rally, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to return to that period of his life again. Weakly, he asked, “You wanna know how I got these scars?”

“Yes, I do,” the ball answered, seeing the quote as a genuine question.

“Of course you do,” he muttered with another sigh. “Do you remember what my dad said last night, about finding me with...with my wrists bleeding?” In his last few words, Dean was barely audible, ashamed at his confession. The head under the covers nodded. “Well, uh, he said that if I wanted to bleed, he'd make me bleed. And for each cut he did on my left leg, he made me do an identical one on my right. There's twenty on each...and I - we did thirty before I let him see me cry.”

Castiel was silent with shock. He kissed each scar, and by Dean's sniffing, he was trying to keep the embarrassing tears at bay as he had failed to do last night. “Please...don't do that, Cas. I don't deserve it.”

Frowning in consternation, Cas halted his ministrations to remark, “You keep saying that. Why?”

“'Cause the only things I deserve are pain and suffering. They're the only things I’m worthy of. They're the things I inflicted on my mom, so they are what should be inflicted on me.”

The words were hollow and had a rhythm to them that Cas suspected came from repetition. “Did your father tell you that?" he rumbled, a burning hatred growing in his stomach for John Winchester.

Dean nodded. “Every time he drank.”

“And you believe them?” Dean nodded again. These words were the norm for him, and his face had stopped crumpling after the amount of times he'd heard them reached double digits. “Well, you shouldn't,” came Cas's angry reply. He slithered up Dean's body, settling on top of him and cradling his head as he said:

“He's wrong. You're wrong. You deserve happiness,” Cas kissed his cheek, “and laughter,” he kissed the other cheek, “and comfort,” he kissed his nose, “and security,” he kissed his eyelids, “and peace,” he kissed his forehead, “and support,” he kissed his chin, “and love.” Finally, Cas kissed his lips, and lingered on them for as long as it took for them to start trembling. “You don't deserve pain or suffering, Dean. No one does, and least of all you.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispered. “But I don't think I can believe that.”

Castiel sat up, hurt passing over his features. How could he make Dean understand? Did Dean even want to understand? He felt a tremor lurk on his lower lip, but stifled it before it got any ideas. His phone rang distantly, and Dean said, “You should get that,” before turning on his side and staring blankly out of focus with the deadest look Castiel had ever seen. Regretfully, he left the room to answer it. With trepidation, he unlocked it, noting the unknown number, and held the phone up to his ear.

For the third time that day, the eleventh time that week, Castiel was subjected to another bout of angry words from his family. He hadn't told Dean – what was the point? Dean had his own issues to deal with, he couldn't take on Cas's too. They had been so happy, so why ruin it? Cas closed his eyes as the rhetorical questions were added to by whoever was on the other side of the phone this time. It had gotten to the point where he only let certain words filter through and affect him, but this one made him want to crawl into an even smaller ball and forget that the world existed outside of him and Dean.

“ _I hear that you have shacked up with your fellow abomination.”_

“ _Sometimes we pray for your salvation, but mostly we pray that Anna will not be too indisposed to greet you at the gates of Hell.”_

“ _What you are feeling is not love – it is trickery of the Devil.”_

“ _Sodomy is not admirable, Castiel. It is unclean and execrable, just like you. How fitting.”_

The words kept coming until his brother hung up. Uriel, who used to make him laugh like no one else could, who would pay attention to his creativity and encourage it had said these things and meant them. Somehow, it hurt most coming from him, and Castiel felt as though all the wind had been taken out of his sails. The phone fell out of his hand and he grasped for purchase on something, anything, as one of his knees gave way.

The walls were closing in, the air thinning, and something was clamping down on his lungs, something that felt too much like hands...he had to get out, had to get away from here or he was going to vomit. Hunched over and limping he rushed out of Dean's apartment, leaving behind only a racket of noise and the clutter he pushed off of shelves and the like in his grabs for support.

Castiel took in the stairs that lead to freedom, the ones that were twisting and pulsing under his watch. He swallowed the bile that bubbled through his throat, and hoped with all his might that the elevator was finally repaired. It was. _God doesn't hate me,_ Castiel briefly thought before scrambling in and crashing to the corner of it, sliding down to a crouch. He couldn't remember whether he'd pressed any buttons, but the metal of the walls were cool against his burning skin, and soothed the flare of the fire in his mind. Wrapping his overcoat around himself, Cas felt the security of it envelop him and slow the rapidity of his breathing.

Vaguely aware of his name being called, he opened his eyes, only to feel the rush of panic again. _Abominable...Hell...Trickery...Unclean_ played on repeat on his mind, creating a rhythm he could rock to. Cas whispered the words under his breath, but paused when a palm cupped his paled face. His eyes were wide open and he was staring right ahead, why couldn't he see anything? The edges of his vision were white, and multicoloured spots danced in front of his pupils, so it may have been that.

Hands shook his shoulders, and a broken, burnt out voice whimpered his name over and over until it confused the rhythm of his chanting. _Abominable...H -_ “Cas,” _ell...Tricke -_ “Cas,” _ry...Unclean..._ “Cas!” The white around his vision parted like clouds broken by the sun - his sun with the dazzling soul that shone through the rainbow patterns obscuring his view and cancelled them out as he chased the clouds away. That man, his sun, was in front of him, green eyes blurred and rimmed with red, his beautiful face contorted into one of defeat. It had been so long since he had seen that face. Castiel took it in his sweaty palms and held it, his thumbs rubbing the stubble that the man favoured.

 _Dean._  He tried saying it but his mouth was dry. Instead, he wondrously clutched at his perfect face and attempted to hear the words coming out of his lovely plush lips, but to no avail. Castiel nodded, hoping that would answer Dean's question/statement/whatever it was adequately, and it seemed to because Dean pressed a button he realised that he had neglected to press earlier. The metal doors closed, and the sudden jolt of cables jump-starting spooked him.

And then the panic set back in, rising in him with every shallow breath he took and making his head almost explode with the way it expanded in his mind. Castiel heard a quiet wail of anguish and supposed it was him. He was far away, so distant from his body, but it was the only way to deal with the stabbing pain he felt in every pore that was touching something. There was no way he couldn’t be tactile with the floor and whatever else he was gripping onto for support, and he began searching for a position that would minimise contact and the amount of small shocks coursing through his body, but nothing and everything was happening at once and he was becoming more distressed until he was almost writhing on the floor, the cool metal failing to soothe him this time. It only agitated the confusing excruciation he was feeling.

But the grey box they were moving in stopped, and so did the pain it confoundedly inflicted upon Castiel.

“Shit! Damn thing's broken down!” he suddenly heard, letting out a whoosh of relief he didn't know he was holding. Something buzzed, and Dean started to spout angry threats that Cas somehow knew weren't directed at him. He closed his aching eyes, shielding them from the lights that were too blinding and too artificial for their liking. “Cas? Stay with me, man.”

Castiel was going to say that he was staying right here, thank you very much, but it came out as a splutter, and he got the awful feeling that he had just vomited his words.

Dean stared at the puke Cas had just coughed up and pulled a face before continuing his threat to the elevator repairman. _'Half an hour'_ , he was saying. Dean didn't know whether Cas could last that long. He needed water, fresh air, and the medication that he saw Cas take a couple of times yesterday.

Why couldn't this have happened at another time, another time where Dean didn't want to curl up and die? Another time where he didn't find it difficult just talking to the guy on the other end of the speaker? But he couldn't blame Cas; these things happened, and apparently came out of nowhere. He'd just have to sit through it and get Cas up and running again as soon as he could. Well, maybe not 'running'. Maybe slow jogging, or power walking or something like that.

“I'm so sorry,” Cas kept repeating like a broken record. At least it was better than what his mind had been stuck on earlier. Every time Cas would say those horrible words, a little part of him shattered, and it took all his strength not to break completely when Cas finally saw him, and gazed upon him as though he'd never seen his face before. Like he didn't know him. Dean wasn't sure that he could go on if Cas forgot who he was.

The half hour passed slowly, and after Dean had thoroughly pondered upon whether this was one of the worse days he'd ever had, Cas broke his stillness, sat up and settled on quieting his shakes. The trembling was something Dean could handle, and so was the silence, for the first ten minutes. He didn't know if he could say the right things, or if he would accidentally trigger Cas. But he could do the one thing that he knew calmed him.

Dean sang. He sang softly, and slowed the rhythm to one he hoped Cas could breathe easily to. He sang all the songs he could think of, ignoring the way his voice sounded in their tinny surroundings and imitating instrumentals with his mouth.

When he'd finished a particularly long and high guitar riff, he saw a smile dancing on Cas's lips, and he let out an allayed sigh before continuing his singing. As he was lightly tapping out the drum solo of another song on the floor of the elevator, their cage was shunted down a couple of metres and they clung to each other in surprise. The doors were pried open, and Dean helped his weary lover to his feet.

“Cas, you with me?” Dean worriedly asked as he pulled him out of the elevator. Passing the repairman, he glared and growled, “If this happens again, you are in for a whole _world_ of pain. Ya hear me? I will tear you apart, rip all your -”

“Dean,” Cas warned, shooting an apology the repairman's way. He stumbled out to the car, Dean still holding him and his weak legs up. Dean got in the driver's side, indifferent to the fact that he wasn't insured, and started to drive. Cas was in no state to do anything but rest.

“I think I'd like to go somewhere,” Cas said in a low voice.

Dean pinned him with a suspicious glance. “Where?" he asked, fully expecting to say no to whatever he suggested.

“The park. The one with the fountain? There's a bench I like to sit on.”

With a grunt and an eyebrow raise, Dean probed, “This one of your 'happy places'?”

Cas nodded, and even though Dean was in no mood to go anywhere but under a blanket, he yielded, as he always would with him.

* * *

The chill of the November breeze tickled the backs of their necks as they sat side by side on the cold wooden bench watching the water spurt of of the naked stone cherubs' mouths. It had been a while since Cas had been here, perhaps a couple of months, and nothing had changed but the temperature. There was still the smell of rain in the air, as well as the same group of youths who had re-purposed the old tennis courts into a skateboard park.

The fountain was almost grey, the once-white stone weathered and stained by dirty rain and the beer that had spilt onto it from all the parties that seemed to congregate around it. Thankfully, Castiel always managed to miss those evenings.

He observed the ripples in the pond of it, seeing new ones as the cherubs shot more water out of their arrows and mouths. The fountain had three tiers: the first the thickest, with the little angels surrounding the bottom of it, the second layer smaller in circumference, a simple flattened bowl of water that had a continuous overflow, and the third holding an ornate spout in the centre of it, the water reaching high then low as the pressure changed with every other cycle of water.

“Watching the water...it relaxes me. It's predictable, and without knowing, your body synchronises its breaths with the flow of it.”

Dean took his eyes off the fountain for a moment to look at Cas. He'd practically swaddled himself in his trenchcoat again, and his breathing was mechanical. He still wasn't okay.

“What can I do to make it better?”

Cas fixed him with an odd gaze, his brows furrowing and his mouth twitching with the letters that were trying to form words. “Dean...there's nothing you _can_ do.”

Licking the back of his teeth, Dean kept his mouth closed in frustration and tried to keep the feeling off his face. Why couldn't he do anything? Was there _nothing_? _I’m not enough, I'll never be enough, he doesn't want me to be en -_

“Just...be you. Be Dean. Make references I won't understand until you _make_ me understand. Kiss me when you can't think of a sufficient argument. Straighten my tie when my fingers won't comply. Be spontaneous when I can't – or won't be. Let me see the good in the world by way of your smile. That's what you can do, Dean. You can _be you._ ”

The clichéd advice of 'be yourself' wasn't lost on Dean, but as everything did, it was different coming from Cas. Maybe he _could_ be enough for him, who knew. An idea came out of nowhere and took root in his mind. Cas wanted him to improvise? He could do that. Dean held Cas's hand up to his lips and kissed it before he stood, walking back and almost pulling Cas's stubborn arm out of its socket.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, his low voice deeper with wariness.

Dean grinned. “Being spontaneous!” With that, he jumped in the fountain, his jeans soaked with the cold water and wet patches forming where the cherubs squirted him with their arrows. Dean shivered as he doubted his plan to make Cas happy by distracting him with something utterly ridiculous, and his teeth chattered as he smiled shyly and held out his hands, presenting himself to an open-mouthed Cas who was still very much _not_ in the fountain with him.

“What are you doing?" he repeated incredulously, before shaking his head. “No, I _know_ what you're doing, and you don't have to do it.” Cas wouldn't meet Dean's eyes, and he swallowed, his face filled with guilt and sorrow. “Please don't feel like you have to 'be spontaneous', just because I asked. I understand if it's too much, what I’m asking of you. I’m asking you to deal with me in elevators and me when I’m grieving, me when I can't breathe and me when I’m chanting nonsensical words. It's okay if you can't, if you don't want to, if you feel that my problems will eclipse yours. It's okay if you don't want to do this anymore.”

The smile dropped from Dean's face and he stopped frolicking in the water as he heard Cas say all of those things. “Wait,” he whispered, his heart on the verge of shattering, “are you breaking up with me?”

It seemed so strange, using the words 'breaking up' like they were teenagers in high school. But that was how Dean felt in that moment. He had regressed to nothing but a sixteen year old, worried that his first love was breaking up with him because the novelty of his sadness had worn away and because they saw him shirtless and decided that the acne that spread across his back wasn't attractive.

“No, no, not at all,” Cas rushed to answer, not bearing to see the tears fall from Dean's glossed eyes and add to the fountain's droplets on his melancholy features.

“But you're giving me a get out of jail free card,” he said, completely lost. “Why would you do that? Don't _you_ want to do this anymore?”

Cas sighed and hitched his legs over to stand in the fountain, facing Dean and ignoring the freezing water seeping through his shoes and clothes. “I do, I do...but I don't want you to feel obliged to be with me. I don't want to be another person you feel duty-bound to care for.”

Dean opened and shut his mouth in a stupor, utterly perplexed as to why the _fuck_ Cas would think that. He lashed out by slapping his slowly soaking chest, and with deep chagrin and assurance said, “Cas, you – I don't feel _obliged_ , you idiot, I do it because I love you. Because I’m _in_ love with you. Have been for a while now.”

There was a long pause as Castiel stared at him, gobsmacked. The regret of what he had just said filled every pore of Dean's being, and he fought the urge to run away so he couldn't hear Cas's rejection.

“You love me?” Cas whispered, wondrously wide-eyed.

Dean shifted, shyly watching his feet adjust themselves in the water. “Yeah.”

“You're in love with me?”

The clarification made Dean roll his eyes, but his heartbeat was higher and faster than it had ever been in his life, making his next sentence shake with nerves. “Yeah – look, Cas, you're kinda givin' me a complex here, I mean -”

“I love you too.”

It was Dean's turn for his eyes to bulge. “You do?”

“I do,” Cas said simply, a warm smile gently spreading across his face.

Scratching the back of his head, Dean tried to bite back a timid smile as he asked, “Like, as a friend, or -”

Cas gave him a look that implied he was completely and thoroughly done with Dean's need for utter elucidation. “Dean, we have slept together nearly every night for more than a month. We have held hands on multiple occasions when we did not need to. We have kissed each other and touched each other in places that I hope you do not let your other friends kiss and touch you. So no, not as a friend. I am in love with you, Dean Winchester, as a...a _boyfriend_ , as a lover, as a partner, whatever you wish to call us. I’m in love with you.”

“I'm in love with you,” Castiel repeated, so close that Dean could taste the words on his lips. Their confessions were sealed with a kiss, a soft, slow one that had both of them smiling into each other's mouths.

“No, I’m in love with _you.”_ He gave Cas a firm, close mouthed kiss, keeping his eyes open so he could lose himself in those perfect blue galaxies.

Cas frowned. “It is perfectly possible for two people to be in love with each other at the same time, Dean.”

“I know. 'Cause we are. We in _love_. Man, I never thought I'd feel it, much less say it.” He was giddy with felicity, a dumb grin invading every possible face he could make. Holding Cas a little closer, he rubbed their noses together and firmly chastised, “And I _never_ wanna hear you say that I should break up with you and leave you ever again, you hear me? 'Cause it's never gonna happen. Never.”

Biting his lip, Castiel nodded. “Alright,”

“Alright! Now, what do you say to public sex?”

* * *

As it turned out, exibitionism was totally hot. They'd hidden deep in the woods round the back of the park in a small grassy clearing, and had prepped Dean with a sachet of lube they'd found in one of the many pockets in Cas's trenchcoat. It had only been a short session, what with the thrill of being found and the pace that they were going, but when they came, they came together, and hard, grasping at each other's bodies and clumsily clashing their teeth together. They caught their breath as they became aware of the world around them: the evergreen trees of the forest blowing in the wind, the distant roll of skateboards on concrete, and the brown leaves left over from autumn skittering across the grass and dirt, one even catching in Cas's hair.

Dean lovingly plucked it out, smiling up at his boyfriend, his lover, his partner – whatever he wished to call Cas in the moment and threaded his fingers through the dark tangled mess, mussed more by their unexpected love making. He licked into his lover's mouth once more before pulling him up. Cas grumbled about them catching a cold as their lower halves were still a little wet and chilly from the fountain, though they had forgotten about it through their coupling, and Dean proposed a hot shower. The former's eyes darkened at the prospect of the latter engulfed in steam, warm water beating on his strong chest.

They jogged to the car, adjusting themselves so not to flash the people wandering through the park, and drove as fast as they could to Cas's – to theirs. That shower did have a superior water pressure, after all. Packing up Dean's stuff could wait awhile, they had to consummate their love for each other in as many places as they could.

Cas had only turned the engine off for a moment before Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and leapt on him. The car was just big enough for Dean to comfortably straddle him and pepper his face with kisses in between murmuring 'I love you's' into his skin. Cas basked in the tender attentions and affectionately massaged Dean's ass in return, grinding their still-sensitive cocks together through their still-damp clothing. Dean shivered as Cas sucked a mark onto his neck and let out a breathy moan as he bathed the reddening blemish with his tongue; they were utterly caught up in each other again, and nothing could pull them out of the warm glow they felt as they breathed words of love on each other's lips.

Nothing but a tap on the window.

They froze instinctively, their eyes flicking to each other's, too close to see in focus. In readiness for whatever harsh words they were about to receive for their hot make out session in the car, they nodded once, and Cas wound down the window with the press of a button.

Balthazar was the last person he expected to see.

 


	15. I've Got To Talk To You

"Ah. This is awkward," Balthazar commented as he happened upon the couple steaming up the car. “Oh! This is the boy who was stupendously drunk! I almost didn’t recognise you without the drool hanging out of your mouth. I’ll wait for you two to sort yourselves out.”

Balthazar turned his back on the red-faced pair, and Dean took the opportunity to scramble out of Cas’s lap and into the front seat again. Maybe being an exhibitionist wasn’t for him, at least not when a snarky British man (who was presumably Cas’s ex, from the way he mouthed ‘ _Balthazar’_ in embarrassment) was voyeur.

“Are you boys decent?" he asked over his shoulder. Dean could see the smirk on his face from his position in the car, and he had the explosive urge to punch it off.

Cas sighed with resignation as he felt his arousal wilt, and shot an apologetic glance Dean’s way before saying a simple, “Yes.”

“Good.” Balthazar spun round on his heels and leant in the open window, extending a hand toward Dean and smiling in a way that unsettled him, as if he was about to tell him his and Cas’s sexual history. “Balthazar Douze.”

 _More like douche._ Dean shook the hand, noting the prominent wrinkles on them. Cas went out with _this_ guy? He was at least ten years older than Cas, the crows feet and forehead creases gave that away. _Shit - what if Cas has a daddy kink?_ Dean stopped himself from thinking too hard about that, realising that he was staring at Balthazar, simmering with a low level of animosity, and introduced himself right back at the blond-haired (that _had_ to be dyed, come on) Englishman. “Dean Winchester.”

But Cas was frowning, looking more befuddled that Dean had ever seen him. “ _Douze_? Wasn’t it -”

“Yes, yes, I know, Cassie,” he strained as he drew his arm out of the car, and resumed his position to dust himself off. “I changed it after a bet I made during a _very_ wild night in Paris. The friends I was out with - well, I say ‘friends’, but I had actually met them the same night - anyway, they bet me that I couldn’t orchestrate an orgy of ten, excluding myself. And they were right. I only managed twelve.” Balthazar winked at the both of them, unsettling Dean again and bringing to surface memories for Castiel that he did not ever want to surface again. “So I changed it to the French for ‘twelve’, in its honour.”

Castiel ignored the smutty grin on his face and got straight to the point. “Balthazar. What are you doing here?”

The grin faded a little and Dean could have sworn he saw a flash of hurt in the otherwise nonchalant eyes, but he couldn’t say he felt all too bad for the guy, not when he had interrupted them as they were going to have a frotting session in the car. “I’m here to see you, of course,” Balthazar said, his eyes returning to indifference and his voice taking on a bored tone with a hint of ‘duh’. “I admit, it is superbly bad timing, but I wondered whether you were around for a chat?”

“I could do tomorrow, if it’s urgent,” Cas responded, ever patient. But even this short encounter with his ex was wearing him down, Dean could see that. He could see it in the dulled blue of his half-lidded eye, in the slump of his deceptively strong shoulders, and in the way that his pink mouth craved a sigh. Cas needed to recuperate and be on the receiving end of tight hugs.

Balthazar thought for a second, visibly rating his crisis on a scale from one to ten. “It is fairly urgent, but I wouldn’t want to intrude on any plans the two of you have.”

“We aren’t doing anything tomorrow, are we, Dean?” Dean shook his head.

“Then tomorrow it is! How about that nice little café we used to frequent? Around one-ish?” Castiel nodded. “Wonderful. I’ll see you then. Nice to meet you again, Dean. It’s, er, _refreshing_ to meet someone who’s as coherent drunk as they are sober. Goodbye, Cassie.”

Balthazar jauntily trotted off, leaving Dean with a bad taste in his mouth. Immediately, he forgot his plans to help his boyfriend recuperate, lunged towards Castiel and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him in for a hard kiss. When Cas was dishevelled enough by his ministrations, he stormed out of the car and into the building, leaving Cas rumpled and confused. Was Dean...jealous? Somewhat turned on by the idea, he followed, catching up with Dean as he got in the elevator. Realising what he had done, Dean quickly stepped out and whispered an apology into his hair as Cas overcame his temporary fear by burying himself into Dean's neck and retracing the mark he had left earlier.

They took the stairs to their apartment, dragging each other up and performing various acts upon the other whenever they stopped to catch their breaths. Dean kept mouthing the same word over and over again on different locations of Cas's body, be it his newly exposed shoulder, the calf that had found itself over Dean's shoulder at one point or his stomach when Dean had rucked his tucked in shirt up.

 _Mine. Mineminemineminemine –_ Mine.

Oh yes. Dean was definitely jealous.

They had barely made it past the bedroom door with the amount of stopping they did. Of course, those pauses did have their advantages - clothes were stripped off, open mouthed kisses were exchanged, and skin was nuzzled with ‘mine’s. By the time they wrestled each other onto the bed, Cas was only in an unbuttoned white shirt and his underwear while Dean was disentangling his legs from his underwear and jeans.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Dean roughly whispered in Cas's ear as he slid his hand down his boxer briefs. "Is that okay?"

Cas swallowed. He had only ever 'bottomed', as it were, for Balthazar. Had Dean guessed and subsequently felt the urge to claim him like that? He had always willingly relinquished control for Balthazar because that was what was expected of him; Castiel was the novice, the student to Balthazar's experienced tutor. But now, to Dean, _he_ was the teacher, the one with all the know-how. And for Dean, he'd do anything.

Pushing himself up so his back was against the headboard that Dean so desperately wanted to bruise Cas's cranium with, he guided Dean's face up from the apparent distraction of his inner thighs to have him meet his gaze. "On one condition," he started, intrigue sparking in the glittering green eyes.

"I'm in control."

Dean nodded, less feral now, and licked at Cas’s cotton covered cock a few times before pulling down the barrier between their skin, flinging the saliva and precome-damp underwear across the room. As Cas rummaged in the bedside drawers for lube and a condom, Dean clambered up to lean against the headboard as Cas had done. If Cas was going to be in control, then that only meant one thing: Cas was going to ride him. He groaned as his dick impossibly grew harder at the thought, and he palmed it as Cas knelt over him, straddling his thighs. Cas stared down at him, his mouth agape as he opened himself up for Dean.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Dean breathed, reaching a hand up to cup Cas’s cheek.

Cas closed his eyes and smiled. “Not God... _Castiel.”_ His fluttering laugh quickly turned into a quiet moan as he ground down on his own fingers. Ego slightly dented from the laugh, Dean took his hand away from Cas’s face, only to have it caught and brought to a mouth that peppered it with kisses.

“No, Dean, don’t be upset,” Cas rasped in between pecks. “That was the first thing you said to me. You asked if I was God, and -”

“And you said you were Castiel,” Dean finished, smiling embarrassedly at his reaction. Rectifying his words, he said, “Castiel, you’re beautiful.”

“As are you.”

Even though he had heard Cas call him beautiful before, it still made him blush. Because when Castiel called him that or complimented him in any other way, he knew it wasn’t just for his body, the shell he used to get around - it was for _him_ , for everything he was on the inside. Even when his insides were all gooey with romance and sex and love like they were now.

Dean slid his fingers down Cas’s neck and chest until they teased the hair just above his dick. “You know what else you are?”

“What?” Cas asked, barely present.

“Mine.” He jerked Cas’s dick hard, eliciting a breathy moan from the man and bringing his mind back from wherever it had floated off to. Remedying his rough tugs with feather light touches, Dean stroked up his back and around the shoulder blades that were so arousingly sensitive to the touch.

Cas gasped, stealing a kiss as he shuffled further into Dean’s lap. “Yes. I’m yours,” He raised his ass, lining it up with the head of Dean’s cock. “And you are mine.” Castiel sunk down slowly, lowering himself and lifting up in short bursts, allowing himself to get used to the intrusion. Hands mapped his ribs and held them, supporting him while he gradually upped the pace of his bounces.

Impatient, Dean thrust his hips up as far as they would go, the change of angle obviously hitting Cas’s prostate by the way that his cerulean blue eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Thighs quivering, he held onto the back of the headboard, knuckles whitening with the force he was grabbing it with. Dean's hands moved to the globes of his ass, pulling the cheeks apart and squeezing them as Cas clenched to tighten the ride. “I am the only person you get to fuck from now on, do you understand?" he growled in Dean's ear, his low grunt contrasting against the higher pitched moans he had been making.

“God, Cas,” Dean panted, stroking his hand up to grip Cas's hair, the other moving to encircle and pump his cock. “There's no one -” He broke off to moan at a particularly hard grind. “No one I'd want to. It's just you. Just... _you._ ”

On Dean's last word, Cas came all over Dean's hand and torso, groaning through it until Dean pulled his head down to capture his lips. But Cas was still bucking through his orgasm, and ended up biting Dean's bottom lip, breaking the skin of the perfect plump lips. In atonement, he undulated his hips more, faster, until Dean came with a cry. In a mimic of earlier, Cas's eyes and mouth widened again as he felt Dean's come painting his insides.

“Dean,” he breathed, still half-lucid and spent. “We forgot the condom.”

It was Dean's turn for his eyes to widen. They were both clean, right? Cas would have definitely told him if he had something, and vice versa. But they worry about it later. Right now, Dean was lost in the haze of his orgasm, and wanted to keep it that way. And maybe he got a little rush from marking his territory.

“I guess you're really mine, now,” he mumbled as Cas shifted and his softening dick slipped out of his ass.

“I guess I am,” Cas replied, sounding a little grumpy, but also a little turned on by the fact. He kissed the broken skin of Dean's lip, laving the wound with his tongue. “Sorry about that,” he muttered into his mouth.

Dean shrugged and pulled Cas tighter, like he had initially planned on doing before his caveman instinct had taken over. “But I meant it, though,” he said, waking Cas from his light snooze in Dean's strong arms.

“Meant what?”

“That there's no one I wanna fuck. There's no one for you to be jealous over. There's only you. And with you, I wanna _be_ fucked too.” Even though his voice was barely louder than a distant rumble of thunder on a night with only the possibility of a storm, it became quieter as he admitted his heart’s desires, hoping they would reassure Castiel. Feeling a curious but glad stare on his face, he continued through the side of his mouth, “Don't tell anyone that last part. Apparently all the guys who get fucked in these kind of relationships are the girls.”

Cas snorted but brushed the rosy cheek with his tired lips all the same. “Your implications aren't escaping me, Dean.”

“But seriously,” Dean flipped onto his stomach with great effort, his limbs lagging behind the rest of him, and he held Cas's head in his hands, earnestly professing everything he was to him. “I love you. You're the only person I’ve ever said that too, and...man, like, two months ago you wouldn't find me bein' this sappy. And it's your fault, in the best way. You – you _rebuilt_ me, and you've seen pretty much every part of me, and you love me...you love me in spite of those things. So believe me, Cas, you got nothing to worry about. No one's stealin' me from you.”

Cas tilted his head in Dean's hands and brought his fingers up to brush Dean's handsome and vulnerable features, tracing over the freckles that dusted his cheeks. “I don't love you _in spite_ of those things. I love you _because_ of those things.” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he added, “Even though you have a jealous streak that can be quite unwarranted.”

Sighing, Dean removed the fingers from his face and laced them with his own. “You don't get it. It's only ever been _you_ , for me. But with you, you had _him_ , and you loved him, and you were with him for months. How can I _not_ be jealous?”

“Because that was different,” Cas frowned. “I was still recovering, I was still incredibly vulnerable. I loved Balthazar because it was the only positive thing I had felt in a very long time, and I took it for love. So I did everything I could for him, because he helped me out of a dark place. I ruined it the first time, by leaving him, and the second time I tried to amend for it. But I was never satisfied. We had sex, but we rarely made love. He wouldn't tell me anything, what he was thinking or feeling, and it made me feel...inadequate. I don't think he ever forgave me for leaving him in the clinic alone.”

Dean hummed, contemplating what Cas had just said. For a moment, if he just about squinted, he could see parallels in their relationships - something Dean did _not_ want to examine too closely. He sighed again. This conversation was far too deep for after-sex. They should be giggling and kissing and nuzzling each other's necks as they wound their limbs around the other's.

It was silent for a minute or so, save for the sound of their breathing. Cas yawned and prodded Dean's stomach, making him turn his head to hear an explanation for the said prodding.

“But you're wrong, you know.” At Dean's questioning eyebrow raise, he continued, “I do have someone to be jealous of.”

Dean scoffed. "Oh yeah? Who?"

"Dr. Sexy," said Cas with a smirk. “M.D.”

"Well maybe if you put on a lab coat and cowboy boots, you wouldn't have'ta worry too much." Dean half dared. He quickly appropriated the 'M.D.' of Dr. Sexy to apply to Cas, settling on 'Massive Dick'. It sure felt that way when it was inside him.

Cas gave a slow, sly smile. “I am not... _averse_ to the idea of role play.”

All the blood in Dean's body rushed to his dick, but his sensitivity forbade it to rise. So instead, it spasmed and Dean let out a breath of incoherence. Cas laughed at the effect the image had on Dean, and made a note to _definitely_ purchase cowboy boots and a lab coat. He already had a scenario in mind. Oh yes, it was _Dean's_ turn to be claimed in the way he had.

Shuffling closer to the twitching man, Cas smiled against his mouth, kissing the cut better once more. He wrapped his arms around Dean and sucked an earlobe, eliciting a shiver and a mumble of, “You're awesome.” It was strange to think that just today, Dean wouldn't get out of bed, and that he was so affected by his family's calls. How strange that from such doleful starts, they had ended here, tangled in each other's bodies and hearts again like two magnets finding their poles again. And like two magnets clinging to each other, he hoped they were never pulled apart.

* * *

Before Castiel left to meet Balthazar, Dean had yanked his tie and roughly taken his mouth with his own. Cas just rolled his eyes and rubbed his thumb over Dean's scabbing lip, shooting an apologetic look at him as he backed out the door. Dean had wanted to walk him out of the building and see him to his car for one reason or another, but settled for watching him walk down the hallway to the staircase. He still couldn't quite do elevators.

Shangri Lattes was an eclectic, cosy little coffee shop in the centre of Haeds, and was so 'underground' that the hipsters hadn't found it yet. It was even one of his happy places, despite many of his memories of Balthazar residing there. The staff knew his face, and would always welcome him with a smile and his usual order. They figured he was just shy, so they went the extra mile and pandered to him, sometimes even slipping him a slice of whatever cake was going that day. One of the girls welcomed him, saying they hadn't seen him in a while, and that he looked brighter than usual. He surprised her by greeting her in return, and said he felt brighter, thank you Jo. Obviously his shine of love was apparent, and infectious by the way Jo's face lit up.

He took a seat in his usual spot, in the back corner by the floor-bound bookshelves, on an ornate wooden chair painted silver. Balthazar usually took the opposite one, on an identical chair to his apart from the gold finish and the cushion embedded into the seat. Balthazar's was a deep red, while his was an inky blue. Gazing inquisitively at his surroundings, Cas wondered how much had changed since he was last here. The walls in the seating area were adorned with paintings of idyllic islands, mystical valleys, and harmonious paradises, all done by local artists; crooked shelves lined the spare expanses around the paintings in the shape of mountains, with books stacked on them every which way so they didn't fall off the wonky planks of wood. The shop had a 'take a book, leave a book' policy that Castiel always liked to adhere to - but he wasn't here for the books today.

The bell on the door tinkled, alerting him to Balthazar's presence, who had obviously had a night on the town while he and Dean were discussing potential role play scenarios. The designer sunglasses gave it away – what designer, Castiel wouldn't know – as Balthazar always wore his best sunglasses when he was attempting to hide bloodshot eyes and bags, and Cas imagined that the years were not easing his hangovers. Jo glanced between the pair and nudged her co-worker, a newer girl, Charlie, to no doubt whisper their backstory in her ear. Castiel didn't mind too much. He supposed he would be interested too, in he were in their shoes, even if the story were diluted and half based on eavesdropped conversations and imagination.

“Sorry I’m late, darling,” Balthazar said as he slid into his seat. Deja vu buzzed through Castiel's mind, and he had to shake his head to rid it of the memories that were all bubbling to the surface. When he did not have Castiel to keep him in check, Balthazar was late, and every time, he would say that.

Cas shook his head once more, this time for Balthazar's benefit. “You said 'one-ish', I believe, and it is...” - he checked his watch - “six minutes past. One-ish.”

“Ahh,” he breathed with an easy smile, “Good. Now, where do I start...?”

“You could start by taking those glasses off. It's difficult to take you seriously when you wear them indoors.”

Balthazar laughed, far louder than he usually did when Castiel made a remark like that, and despite himself, a minute smile tugged at Cas's lips at the reception of his words. “Oh, Castiel, you always did make me laugh. You used to keep me young, too, but we both know how that little escapade ended.” He removed his sunglasses and dangled them from his fingers as he leant on the table.

With bags under his eyes that Balthazar couldn't lift even if he trained for it, he winced at the light filtering through the windows and held the plastic menu up to shield his face from it. Castiel couldn't make out the blue from the red in his eyes, and he was sure that with the amount of both, there should be some purple swirling around in the watery squint.

Cas sighed as his caring side overcame him, and he asked, “What time did you get in this morning?”

“Well,” Balthazar chuckled humourlessly. “Technically, I didn't. I’ve been at about – oh, eight different parties since last night, and I just walked here from the potential of a ninth.”

Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Cas remarked, “What kind of parties take place in the middle of the day?”

Balthazar grinned wolfishly. “Children's parties.”

“I sincerely hope that was an attempt at humour.”

“A bad attempt, I admit. But no, we were actually in a basement in the last one, so I couldn't quite see the sunlight. I only realised that I was going to be late when I glanced at someone's watch. Well, I say glanced, she was passed out on top of me with her hand in a convenient place for me to tell the time.”

Castiel had never approved of Balthazar's wild antics, even if they made him happy. One of these days, Balthazar was going to be killed, whether it be by alcohol consumption, the drugs he took, or being beaten to death in jail when Cas couldn't come and bail him out. But right now, the question on his lips was why Balthazar had come back after such a short time away. He'd sold his house, so Castiel guessed he was living as he partied, getting shut eye when he could and stealing food and drink from other people's fridges, maybe even taking a shower when the host was too passed out to care.

He was about to tentatively broach the subject when Balthazar jumped in the middle of the planning of his words, and said, “I missed you, Cassie.”

Cas blinked. “Oh.”

“You don't have to say that you missed me too. I don't suppose that you've had time to miss me, what with you and Dean at it like rabbits.” Castiel blushed, starting to stammer over his sentence when he realised that Balthazar was right. He'd rarely crossed his mind what with all that had happened in the past month, but Cas still felt guilty of the fact, and suddenly his blush wasn't just from the comment about his and Dean's sex lives.

“Thing is, I haven't just missed you like...” Balthazar rubbed his mouth, reluctant to continue. “I haven't just missed our conversations, or our friendship in its most general terms. I’ve -” He laughed mirthlessly, avoiding Cas's gaze before looking him straight in the eye and turning serious. “I've missed us. I’ve missed the way we were, the way you were when you were under me. I’ve missed you fussing over me after I’ve gone out without you the way I selfishly did when you didn't want to. I’ve missed us for a long time, Castiel, and I only realised it when I was watching you drive away for the last time. England was lonely, and I could only think of your face lighting up as I showed you around my favourite places. You never showed me yours, and I understood at the time, because you were you, and...anyway. Come back to England with me?”

Castiel was speechless, and if he weren't paralysed he would have run out of that coffee shop as far as his legs could take him, stripping off the trenchcoat for better aerodynamics. Why was Balthazar realising all of this now, when Castiel couldn't reciprocate his feelings? Perhaps if he had asked him to come with him when he knew he was leaving, he might have said yes. He might have re-entered a relationship with Balthazar in fear of being alone forever. But he had Dean now, and his love for Dean was different to that of his previous love for Balthazar, and Dean's love in return felt different too; it felt _better_ , it made him feel as though he could fly in a plane propelled of their combined love. Not that Dean would fly on that plane. Perhaps he needed a different metaphor.

He wasn't even sure that Balthazar loved him. It might be that he was asking him to come to England because he was scared, and because he wanted something familiar, and because who else was malleable enough to encourage to join him at the drop of a hat? The old Castiel might have been, the one whose heart ached whenever Balthazar left him alone for the night, the one who didn't get off sometimes because Balthazar had taken too much to get it up or give it up, and the one who didn't know any better than to stay with him.

But he was getting better now. He was _Cas_ now. He had talked to Jo earlier without prompting, he had the strength to stand up to his family as well as he physically and mentally could. He had someone who loved him so fiercely he thought it might burn the man's heart out. How could he leave when he was making so much progress?

“I'm sorry, Balthazar,” he slowly began, lamenting the expression that befell his friend's face. “But I can't. I’m getting better, I have Dean, and...I can't leave. I fear that it would set me back somewhat, that I would relapse into who I used to be.”

“Who you were when you were with me, you mean?” Balthazar bitterly questioned. “What was wrong with him?”

Castiel shut his eyes for a second, regaining his composure. He was determined not to let his words get scrambled, or for them to give off the wrong impression. “I was still reeling from my family's rejection, Balthazar. I was still healing even after I left the clinic, and you cannot blame me for favouring the man I am now. I have grown, and I believe that it is for the best that we do not reignite the flame that fizzled out years ago.”

“How poetic,” seethed the man opposite. He coldly glared into Cas's eyes, fixing him with unsettling ire, and Cas suddenly remembered why he didn’t like Balthazar when he was hungover. “What a shame that you think you have changed, Castiel. Because to me, you are the broken child I met all those years ago. Naïve, deluded, and falsely pious.” Balthazar stood, bending down to fume in Cas's mortified features. “And it's all that _Dean's_ fault. He's put these things in your pretty little head, and you believe them because you don't know any better. He's broken you beyond repair, more than you were when you were eighteen.”

“You're wrong,” Cas hoarsely whispered.

With a scoff, Balthazar said, “Believe what you will, Cassie. It's true.” He turned on his heel and left a stunned Castiel behind, wondering what had just happened.

Cas wanted to excuse it as his disorder, but he was irked by the fact that he never knew what it was. Balthazar couldn't really feel that way, could he? Couldn't really think those things of him? His heart sank into his stomach at his friend's words, and before he knew it, a slice of carrot cake was slid in front of him. Confused, he distractedly ate it, hardly registering the taste at all. He was so affected by the encounter that he almost forgot to buy the things he and Dean had agreed on for their Dr. Sexy session.

He would prove Balthazar wrong. Dean had _fixed_ him, not broken him, and as soon as he had the chance to, he would prove it with everything he had. So he drove through amber lights. He didn't park in his usual spot. He even mustered up the courage to get in the elevator, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the handful of medication that he took. As he was lifted to his apartment, he distracted himself by changing into the cowboy boots and the lab coat, and strode down the hallway in his get up, boots clicking on the floor. Opening the front door, he was met with a weary Dean. What had happened to make _him_ weary? Never mind. They weren't Castiel and Dean right now.

Cas – Dr. Sexy threw a hospital gown at Mr Smith's face as he growled, “What have I told you about getting out of bed, Mr Smith? Now, put that on, and we can begin testing.”

Dean Smith's eyes blew black with lust, and he could barely contain his excitement as he was pushed into his 'private room'. Removing his clothes and doing up the gown with ease, he laid face down so Dr. Sexy could thoroughly 'examine' his rear. He had been bad, having sex without protection, and Dr. Sexy was going to make sure that he was all healthy down there.

Apparently, making sure he was 'all healthy down there' meant rimming and fingering him to the his first orgasm, then holding him face down while his gown was undone and his ass was pummelled to a second orgasm until Cas/Dr. Sexy came inside him, marking him with come. It felt so dirty, feeling it slide down his thighs when he stood to strip Cas of the labcoat and his other clothes, but he loved the filthiness of it. It meant that they really belonged to each other, now. They dozed for a few minutes, before the ringing of a phone interrupted his post-sex haze.

“Hello?" he answered gruffly.

“ _Dean?”_ Came a surprised voice. _Oh, great._ He'd picked up Cas's phone.

“Balthazar.”

“ _Is Cassie there?”_

Dean glanced beside him at his wonderful lover, who was frowning in his sleep. His feet were probably uncomfortable in the boots he was still wearing. “No, he's havin' a nap.”

“ _Oh, okay. I don't suppose he's told you about earlier, has he?”_

“No, he hasn't gotten round to it yet. Why?” Dean was suspicious. He could hear the tip-toe in Balthazar's tone, like he was readying himself for something.

Balthazar's breath hitched, and his voice was strange. Again, there was something in it that Dean couldn't quite put his sleepy finger on, and it agitated him. “ _Ah. Again, this is awkward. See, like a fool, I asked him to come back to England with me,”  -_ Dean sat up, suddenly wide awake - ” _and, like a fool...he, ah, he agreed to come!”_

“What?” Dean choked, his mind blank of all possible explanations as to how that could happen.

“ _Yes, well I was quite surprised too. I didn't think he would leave you all that easily, but after I convinced him that – no offence, Dean – that you had broken him in a much different and much worse way that his family ever had, he agreed.”_

Shaking his head in dubiety, Dean declared in a quiet voice, “You're lying. I don't believe you.”

“ _Oh, believe what you will. I don't really care. I just hope that you can last on your own. After all, everyone knows who you were before you met him, how damaged you were...are, and I am just concerned that you'll regress.”_

Did Cas tell him? Did they mock him over lunch? Dean felt tears well up in his eyes, no matter how much his heart refused the words being taken to it. “That's an awful lot of concern for something that's none of your fucking business.”

“ _I'm sorry, Dean, but it's true. Castiel is worse than when he was at the clinic. He's having his anxiety attacks every few days or so? Withholding how much medication he's been taking? Refusing to talk to anyone but you? Well, I’ve been there, and the best thing is to leave him to it.”_

Although Dean was highly sceptical of the man's advice, it did seem sound. What he had said about Cas was true, and he had been worrying about all three of those examples for a while now, but he had let his concern simmer. Apparently, this was the time for it to boil over. “Leave him to you, you mean?" he said slowly, wondering if time apart could really do Cas some good. He only wanted what was best for him, what would make him happy.

“ _I know how to care for him. You don't.”_

“I do!” Dean protested half-heartedly. He certainly tried his best to care for Cas, even though he had no idea how to. All the years he had spent looking after Sammy and raising him, and he couldn't even soothe a grown man when they were stuck in a damn elevator.

“ _You_ deal  _with him. And he deals with you. Why can't you both stop pretending that you love each other and get down to the real reason the two of you are together? Neither of you are stable on your own, so you're clinging to what you can get. It's understandable, but sad. It's unhealthy, and Castiel needs to be with someone who isn't toxic, who isn't poisoning his life with his own selfish feelings.”_

He ended the call and flung the phone across the room. It was as though Balthazar was reaching into his head and rummaging around in his deepest fears - and along with the words that Sam had said to him during another unexpected phone call from earlier, Dean felt himself panicking more and more, the lump in his throat becoming too big to swallow around, and he couldn't breathe. This must be how Cas felt most of the time, and he was only making it worse by staying with him.

“ _It's unhealthy, Dean!”_ Sam had cried. “ _You're living in a dream world; you can't just expect to be with him forever and not get a job, not get a life outside of him. What if he breaks up with you? Your dependency on him...as much as I love that you have someone, it's still weird, and codependency isn't good for either of you. You can't just say that you're in love with the first person who shows you the least bit of attention.”_

On the verge of tears and feeling worried despair creep over his skin, he shook Cas awake, and as soon as he opened an eye, he asked, “Is it true? Are you leaving with Balthazar?”

“F'r England?” Cas slurred. “Yes...meant to talk to you about that.”

Dean angrily wiped a tear away. “So you believe him? You think I’m...that I’m...” he trailed off as he choked on his words. “That I’m selfish for loving you?”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, his usual hard thinking made harder by his strange state. _There's something off about him,_ Dean thought,  _like he's drunk, but not._ Either way, the pause between their sentences tore at his heart and clawed at his insides.

“He said you broke me,” Cas finally said with the clarity he was lacking when he initially awoke.

“No, Cas, I – why would – I thought that you loved me.” Dean could barely get the words out. They sounded pathetic, he knew it, and the tears rolling down his face didn't aid them. This was last night all over again, only he never thought Cas would be the one to reject him like his father had. His throat caught with the need to sob – a need which he was determined not to indulge.

Cas winced and lazily turned to stare at him, his face contorting in a strange pain. “What? Dean, I don't -”

He demanded that his tears stop, and he removed all evidence of their tracks by rubbing his face in his hands. Nodding, he said in a crushed croak, “You know what? I get it. I’m stupid for thinkin' anything could ever go right for me. I try and make things better, but I break them, like I’m breaking you. So I'll see myself out, okay? I don't want you feelin' worse just 'cause I’m here. We're not good for each other, no matter how much we might think it. We're...poisoning each other. So I'll – I'll see you around, Cas.”

Dean gathered most of his clothes in the suitcase left over from when they flew to the funeral, and left with Cas's silk robe as a reminder. The come from earlier was sticky in his ass and down his thighs, and he felt dirty in a way he had never felt dirty before. This wasn't hot – this was disgusting and repulsive, and Dean felt like a two-bit whore. Shucking on his jeans and a t-shirt, he closed the door on an indifferent and detached Castiel and walked the way back to his, pulling his suitcase behind him all the way, blaming the wind when tears pricked at his eyes and ignoring the homeless woman with all the bags giving him a knowing stare.

 


	16. Hold On

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since Dean had left. Castiel didn't understand. All he remembered was a vague blur of talking to Dean before the sound of hands rummaging through drawers seeped through the obscure visions of his not-quite-slumber, and then Dean was gone when he awoke. He wished he could recall what had happened, and he tried with all his might to think back to what he had said, but all that surfaced was Dean's crumbling expression and the smell of salty tears on cotton pillow cases.

He had thought it was part of the strange dreams he had had, but when he reached for the warmth that usually enveloped him in the mornings, he was met with cool sheets. Foreboding roiled in his stomach, but he ignored it in favour of imagining what Dean was cooking them for breakfast.

However, there was no waft of hot food drifting through his apartment, there was no note from Dean to say where he had gone, no phone message, nothing whatsoever that hinted at where he might be. Castiel reassured himself with thoughts of Dean being back later with a surprise of sorts.

Dean didn't come back later, nor was he there the next morning when Castiel's three week break from work was up. Castiel wasn't welcomed home with the words that he needed after a stressful day; instead he curled up in his bed and berated himself for whatever he did. It was hard walking around his place as if it weren't missing the rays of sunshine that emanated from Dean and not the windows, like the floors didn't ache for Dean's weight and the kitchen utensils didn't miss his easy hold. Castiel tried to sleep in the spare room, but he was sure that if he stayed in his own bed with Dean's smell, that somehow Dean would sling his arm over Castiel's chest in the night like he had never disappeared.

Eventually, those nights spent hoping in dreams turned into sleepless ones as Castiel mulled over all of their unfinished conversations, finishing them in his head, and mentally fulfilling unfulfilled promises. At some point, he realised that he could actually _call_ Dean instead of waiting around for him to magically appear in his bed. The voicemails he left got more and more emotional and destitute as the nights dragged by.

When his phone rang, Castiel answered it before it even had the chance to rest between rings, and before he checked the caller ID. “Dean?" he searchingly asked.

There was a throaty chuckle, not one belonging to Dean's repertoire. “ _No, Cassie, it's me.”_

“Oh,” Castiel croaked, the hopes that had built spectacularly in the last second shattering, and his heart faltering where it had beat so quickly before.

“ _I heard what happened.”_ Cas didn't question how, he was barely present as it was. This voice might have saved him once, but it could not do it a second time; not when his soul had grown so accustomed to shining at the tiniest of prompts that Dean gave it. “ _I wanted to offer my sincerest condolences.”_

Balthazar didn't sound sincere, nor did he sound like he was offering condolences. He sounded as though he were ordering from a menu that he had ordered from a thousand times, his voice laced with boredom. “Thank you,” he replied, his own voice cracking.

“ _I know it's probably a bad time, but have you thought any more about what I said?”_

Rubbing at his eyes, Castiel scrunched up his face at the abrupt change of subject. “About living with you in England?”

“ _Yes. See, I was hoping now that darling Dean is out of the equation, that you might think it through a little more. I think it would help you to get away from all the memories. What do you think?”_

Castiel paused. His head was screaming at him in a frequency he couldn't tune in to, shaking in refusal before he vocalised his answer. Disregarding his stomach, which was churning with dread and suspicion, he gave his answer, the first sure thing he knew in days. “No.”

“ _No?”_ Balthazar was scandalized, but Castiel didn't care.

“No. Dean might come back.” Balthazar's impatient sighs and protestations fell through the cracks of his hearing and he hung up, just in case Dean called and immediately ended it on hearing the engaged tone.

After a few days, he accepted that Dean wouldn't call. He _knew_ Dean, every part of him, and the determined stubbornness of his strong mind would not allow his hands to dial Castiel's number, no matter what. Another thing he knew from his days of therapy was that no one could help him but himself, so he set about carefully trying to detach himself from the ball and chain that Dean had left him locked in. Castiel broke free but only to find himself in another; he couldn't seem to go more than a few hours without taking the meds that had built up in his bathroom cabinet. Of course, they did make him _feel_ like he had unlocked the shackle around his ankle, but there was always that niggling weight that contradicted it, and the constant feeling of walking into a room but forgetting the reason why.

It definitely wasn't healthy, but at least it got him through the day.

Changing the sheets for the first time after Dean left was difficult. Castiel couldn't tuck the corners round properly and he got tangled in the new covers as he tried to stuff his duvet in. With all the material around him, he couldn't breathe properly, and the new smell perturbed him. Inevitably, he had one of his attacks in it, his body strangled by thin cotton and smothered by the invisible cloud of detergent. It took longer than usual to recover from it, and he sniffed the sheets one last time, letting them soak in his own fresh tears before shoving them in the washing machine.

So used to the state of drowning, swimming against the tide was new for Castiel. He had eventually grown used the the fact that he probably wasn't going to see Dean ever again, nor was he going to get an explanation. He didn't have to like it, but it was what he was dealt. God had never been particularly fond of Castiel, why would He have a change of heart now? But Castiel understood. He had learnt from years of disciplining from his family that he did not deserve God's love, let alone anyone else's.

Remembering who he used to turn to after days of solitary confinement and minimal sustenance, like how he was living now, he called Anna. When he was met with a woman who was not his big sister telling him that the number was disconnected, he blankly stared at one of the many voids in his apartment and chided himself for forgetting that he could never call her again.

Taking a handful of pills, Castiel realised that he only wanted two things. The first, to be close to his big sister once more, and the second to hold Dean's hand one last time. Though the second would make sense of the world again, it was also improbable. The former seemed more likely, and he knew just how to be close to Anna one last time.

* * *

Dean ignored the new notification alerting him of a voicemail on his phone and buried his face in the pillow that he had sniffed all the _Cas_ out of. Why did he ever think that this would be for the best? He groaned into it, bashing his head in the soft cushion that he had laid on when he and Cas first made love.

He never thought he'd be the kind of guy to say 'made love', but even their carnal fucking had been filled with its fair share of tender moments, and looking back on their time together, making love was weaved into everything they had ever done even if it wasn't in the sexual way. They had connected in every possible sense of the word, and Dean regretted leaving that with every fibre of his being every second that passed. He had run scared, he admitted that. His fears had come to fruition that day, and the doubts that had nagged at the paranoid parasite lodged in his mind grew and filled all of his thoughts. The parasite had resided there for as long as he could remember, feeding off all the positive things that had ever happened to him and excreting self-destructive ideas, and it would never go away, no matter how much Dean tried to starve it.

Of course, he couldn't starve it when Cas had lifted him from the quiet Hell he had been living in. It grew a little more every time Cas did something truly wonderful, like say that Dean had made him the best breakfast he'd ever had, or told him stories on the plane to quash his fears, or stand up to his Dad when he was castigating him.

He had overreacted. He'd fucked up. He should have given Cas a chance to tell him. Dean pretended as though these sentences didn't play in his head like a broken record, but the attempt wasn't successful. The record player in his head was broken, just like everything else he was, and he couldn’t change or flip the record that was so determined to keep playing. Dean hoped that it would run out of batteries soon. The Energizer bunny couldn't run forever, right? The idea that it didn't run on batteries crossed his mind, but he shoved it to the side as the only other option was unplugging it, and there was only one way to do that.

He should have ended it before it began, before his stupid heart had jumped at the chance to love someone. But Balthazar had been right – they didn't _really_ love each other. They can't have done. Even if Cas had been his tomorrow, it was all an illusion created by his craving of affection. _Daddy didn't give me enough hugs, so I'll fool myself into falling in love with the first person who sticks around longer than half a day._ Pathetic.

It was hardly as though he could turn to his family at a time like this. Sam had made his feelings perfectly clear two weeks ago when he called him up out of the blue. Dean couldn't remember how they got on the subject of his and Cas's relationship, but it had ended with Sam trying to psychoanalyse their every stolen glance and hide it under the guise of being concerned for him. 'Unhealthy', Sam had proclaimed. So what if he wanted to hide under the sheets all day and mess around with Cas? What was it to Sam? He couldn't just not care for years and then expect Dean to take his _ever so sage_ advice. Fuck that noise.

Another voicemail buzzed through his phone. Dean had tinkered around with the settings of it so he couldn't receive calls, only voicemails. Voicemails that he refused to listen to. He didn't feel like being yelled at down the phone for taking his life for granted, the one that shouldn't even have gone on if it hadn't been for the coincidence of Cas being there. No doubt Cas was regretting saving him now, no matter how much he declared he didn't in their first encounter.

God, he missed Cas. Every day when his phone vibrated, Dean tried to summon the strength to listen to the messages, but he would be bombarded with rue, guilt and the looming feeling that he would be lonely forever. It all reminded him of a certain part of his walks home from school, after the kid – who he now knew as Castiel - had stuck up for him. Dean had had to walk a different way home because as tough as he was, he couldn't beat up two mean looking eighteen year olds and come up trumps. There was a secluded bridge on a closed road that he would walk across, ignoring the 'Keep Out' signs and the 'Danger! Unsafe Bridge!' warnings, and if he stood still for a while and listened to his surroundings, he could hear the distant roar of a waterfall. No matter how hard he looked under that bridge, he could never find it. But it wasn't the mystery of the waterfall that he found himself recalling every few hours or so, no. It was the tiny writing scrawled in permanent marker on the stone walls of the bridge.

_'You are truly lonely if you do not know yourself.'_

Dean didn't know who he was without Cas anymore, and the revelation that he was truly lonely only amplified the conflicted agony he was in. He thought that perhaps his mind had purposefully forgotten the man he was before to protect him, and he managed to be simultaneously grateful for it and resentful - resentful because he was torn up enough already about his life and Cas to wonder if his brain had hidden who he had been all these years, what he had been.

Sometimes he thought he heard his name cried out in the night, a distant wan wail that did nothing to aid the nightmares that had returned with a vengeance, with a couple of people added to the cast of them.

These days they mainly consisted of Castiel. Usually, Cas would save him from his nightmares, but not anymore. They would lay on their bed talking about nothing in particular, and then black viscous liquid trickled out from Cas's every orifice and sweat through his pores, smothering Dean with a blackened hand and a maleficent glint in his newly black eyes, smiling in a way that Cas never would, like a crocodile who had found its first meal after weeks of fasting. He'd be at dinner with his family, his mother meeting Cas as she could only do in dreams. When he asked who would carve the meat, everyone around the table grinned ravenously and pinned him to the table top, spinning it as they took their knives to him, making him dizzy with the motion and the blood loss.

His phone vibrated again, but it wasn't with a voicemail this time. It was a text. Dean's heart jumped in his chest. In both of the weeks that had passed, it had only been Cas calling and leaving a message, never writing a text and sending it. What had changed? Dare he read it? Surely the lack of Cas's voice saying the words would lessen the ache of his heart? With the most courage he had ever mustered, Dean pressed 'read'.

_**Castiel:** _   
_**M goinh. to get annna frnm th clif ,woulf be easr f uo wereher** _

What? Was Cas drunk or something? Whatever. It wasn't his problem anymore. Dean ignored the rising concern coursing through his veins and suppressed the bubbling of fear in his stomach. 'Going to get Anna'. What did that mean? And from the cliff? Alarm bells rung in Dean's ears, terror and paranoia catching in his chest and filling his being. Sucking up his goddamn hurt pride, he listened to the most recent message Cas had left.

“ _Dean...I called Anna and she wasn't there, so I’m going to see her again. So now I’m calling you and you're not answering. You sang to me, and you sang that you would come whenever I called. So where are you? Where are you, Dean?”_

He was certainly more coherent than his text suggested, but what did that say about his hands? If he couldn't text properly, he definitely couldn't drive, but his speech was still slurred in the way that wasn't quite alcohol-induced, nor was it Cas's tired way of talking. It was how he had spoken after Dean had thrown the phone across the room to shut Balthazar up. Maybe Cas didn't confess anything that day. Maybe Dean had just filled in the blanks with the information Balthazar had given him. If Cas was leaving him to join Balthazar across the pond, why did he call every day? Why hadn't he left yet? These points had been brought up by the rational part of his brain every once in a while, but he had confused it with the irrational part. The fact that he wasn't good enough nor deserving of Cas's love bested possibilities of misconstrued words every time, because that was the way he had grown up.

Dean listened to the message again, savouring the voice he had missed so and taking in more information. _Wait, what?_ Cas was going to see Anna again? _What the fuck does that mean?_ He gave up on repressing the rightful panic that settled throughout him, and let it consume him. There was only one thing that Cas could mean by that – and there was only one thing Dean could do. He had to prevent it any way he could.

Before he knew it, Dean was running down the stairs and surveying the road for cars he could easily steal. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, but now wasn't the time to remember _all_ the detail of his rebellious sixteenth year, after his Dad had taken back the Impala. In no time, he was in and driving to the outskirts of town, towards the sea. With the many ways that Cas had saved him, he hoped he could return the favour just this once.

Dean roughly remembered the route as he had spent most of his time gazing out of the window on their initial trip to the cliff, but the main giveaway of the turnoff was Cas's car carelessly half parked on the grassy verge that led to the breathtaking view. Parking up behind it, Dean ran out to see Cas leaning over the metal rails, staring down at the rocky bottom.

“Cas!” he yelled over the wind, hoping the strong breeze would carry his voice to Cas and not dissolve into the air.

A bearded Cas whipped around, still gripping onto the bar with white knuckles. He said something, but Dean couldn't hear him. The wind ruffled his dark hair, rippling it and his clothes so they were fluttering like the wings of a tiny bird trying to keep itself in the air. Dean ran closer, aching to take Cas away from the dangerous brink that could collapse at any given time, but Cas put an arm out to stop him. Confused, Dean stopped short of him. “Cas, buddy? What are you doin'?" he softly asked upon seeing the crazed look in the blue eyes that could see into his soul.

“I'm trying to see Anna again,” Cas warily began. “What are you doing here? You left. How did you know where I was?”

Dean held his hands up to show he meant no harm, and Castiel pinned him with a distrustful glare. “You called me. I came. Like I said I would, when I sang, remember?”

“No, I’ve been calling you for days, Dean. You never came. Why did you leave me?” Cas's voice broke in his words, his eyes threatening to spill over.

It was here that Dean realised that he was completely and utterly wrong about everything he had thought in the last two weeks. He would have blamed it on the depression that so easily and so often consumed his mind, but it was his stupidity and fear that fuelled his actions. “I thought...I thought that you were leaving _me_. I thought you were gonna go back to Balthazar,” he guiltily confessed.

Castiel had a moment of lucidity as all of his 'insane cogitations', as his aunt had called them, reformed into thousands of question marks. “What? Why would you think that? Why would I leave you, the man I love, and upheave my life to be with Balthazar? He's selfish, cruel, and not even half the man you are. The man I _thought_ you were,” he bitterly added.

“I'm sorry,” Dean said, blinking away the regret about to fall from his eyes. “I really -”

“No,” Cas interrupted as he backed up. He kept his eyes on Dean while he carefully clambered over the bars to the other side. There was about a metre between him and the edge now, nothing to stop him from falling should he lean back. “You are insecure and a _coward_ , and you cannot accept that you have done nothing but good. You deserve good things, Dean.”

Slowly toeing his way towards the railings, Dean shook his head. “I don't deserve 'em, Cas. You say I’ve done nothin' but good, but look at you, now. This is what I’ve done. I’ve broken you.”

The moment of lucidity was gone, and the wild eyes were back when Cas shook his head more fiercely than Dean had. “That's what Balthazar said. He was wrong. You were wrong. I have to talk to Anna, she'll know what to do. I don't know what to do, Dean, I need to hold your hand. Can I do that? Please?”

“Sure,” Dean breathed, putting on a reassuring smile that seemed to soothe Cas for a few seconds. As soon as their hands touched, they both sighed with relief at the contact. Castiel closed his eyes and cherished the hand he took for granted during their time together, and Dean thought he looked like an angel.

However, he didn't want him to become one. “Now, why don't you come back over this side, and we go sit on the bench, like we did the first time?”

“I'm scared, Dean,” Cas said in a tiny voice. Cautiously hopping over to join him, Dean restrained himself from hugging him and squeezed his hand instead.

“I know. I’m scared too. And I know that I’ve made mistakes and I’ve jumped to conclusions, and I was a coward, I admit that, but...I'm scared all the time. I’m scared that you love me too much, that I love _you_ too much, that we're too dependant on each other and it's gonna ruin us, but you know what? I don't care about any of that stuff right now, 'cause losin' you...that scares me the most. These past two weeks have been hell, and I know I broke it off, but I couldn't give you the power to do that. I gave you my heart, Cas, but I couldn't trust you not to crush it in your stupidly beautiful hands.” Dean's voice cracked, and he couldn't find it in him to care about waxing poetic. He needed Cas, and he needed Cas to forgive him.

A tear rolled down Cas's cheek, but he couldn't wipe it away, not with both of his hands being held by Dean's. “They've been hell for me too,” he whispered into the wind, refusing to budge when his hands were tugged on.

“I'm sorry. I’m so so sorry, Cas. I put you through that an' I shouldn'ta done. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I frickin' love you so much, and I want you to be okay. You killed my demons and you ignored your own, and now I wanna return the favour and kill yours too. Please, just come and sit down with me and we can talk.” But Cas stared straight through him, like he was a hologram of sorts. Like he wasn't there. Like neither of them were really there.

“I miss you so much,” Cas said with worrying apathy.

Dean's blood ran cold. Something was very off, and his reassuring smile faltered. “I'm right here. Come on, Cas, please, let's just -”

Unblinkingly, Cas said, “I can't. I have to stay here.” He pulled a hand away from Dean's and didn't seem to notice or care about the flash of pain that skittered across the freckled face.

“Cas,” Dean reached, searching for some form of feeling in the stranger who stood opposite. “What are you talking about?”

“Here. This is my punishment.” He gestured around him, even pointing to the dark clouds like they were controlling him. The unwavering emptiness in Cas's eyes and expression was disconcerting, his hand falling limp in the strong, seeking grip.

Dean didn't understand. He didn't understand at all. Cas had gone and vacated his vessel, so to speak, leaving a shell of a man behind. This had to be another breakdown, he was sure of it, no matter now clear and unclear Cas was being about everything and nothing. “Punishment for what? You're scaring me, Cas, for what?”

“For being bad. Anna was bad too, and she did the right thing. I’m doing the right thing, Dean.” Cas looked so sure of himself even though he had regressed to something of a childlike state, and it broke Dean's heart all over again.

“No, no, whatever it is you're thinking of doing, just don't, okay? Don't leave me here alone, come on. I'll stay with you forever, if you just stay with me too.” He was begging now, throwing aside any pride he had left to bare his crumbling heart.

Castiel's words were callous and cold, though Dean told himself that he didn't mean to be. It was just the breakdown talking, just whatever medication he'd been taking staging a coup in his beautiful mind.

“I don't have a reason to stay.”

“You got me. You got me, Cas, isn't that enough?” Dean almost didn't want to hear the answer.

But apparently, the answer was a hand gently cupping his jaw and stroking away the tears with a thumb. “I need you, Cas. I want you. I _need_ you to stay. I...I can't go on if you're not with me, if you're not here. I’m gonna turn back into the guy I was before I met you, and I can't do that. Don't do this, please, I love you, and I can prove that I'll be enough for you, you hear me? I'll prove it!”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas tenderly said. “I -”

They never found out how that sentence ended, because the ground cracked beneath them and broke away from the cliff top. Dean stepped back just in time, his senses heightened in his panicked mode, but in his sedated state Cas simply smiled contentedly and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of flying one last time as the ground disappeared below him.

Dean was jerked forward as his hand was still in Cas's, the hold stronger than ever by instinct and reflex. He looked down over the cliff and immediately felt dizzy at the height. Repressing it, he met Cas's gaze, which had been refreshed with panic and clarity.

“Dean!” he called upwards, his feet dancing half in the air and half on the cliff face, searching for a foothold. Rocks broke and skittered where Cas was trying to gain purchase, and the ground below Dean was creaking suspiciously, like the cliff face had earlier warned on deaf ears.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as the strain on his shoulder almost became too much. He added his other hand in the cluster of fingers, hoping it would give him more strength to pull Cas up. “Hold on!”

Cas groaned and swung his legs to find footing a little higher up. “I'm slipping...” he grunted, his arm trying to resist gravity to join the others.

“No you're not, come on!”

With great strength, effort, pained faces and noises, Dean heaved Castiel up, lifting him from the brink of what he could only see as the end for both of them. As soon as Cas was on land, they rolled back to the bar and watched the part of the cliff they were just hanging from collapse and fall into the sea. They caught their breaths with each other's and stared stunned into each other's eyes. The grassy green of Dean's brought Castiel back down to earth, while the body of water in Cas's brought relief to Dean as he thanked every God out there that the blue of the ocean was only in his wide eyes and not closing them forever.

“You don't have to prove anything,” Cas breathed, only barely breaking the silence between them. “I love you, and you are more than enough for me.”

His heart fluttered with relief and burst with love, and Dean could feel it slowly healing itself after the battering it had received. “So you'll stay?”

The storm in Cas's eyes calmed, and the accepting bliss he felt in the moment rippled the waves in them. “You just saved my life, Dean. From what I have learnt of past experiences, it is only etiquette to stay with you forever and fall in love with you every day.”

“Only etiquette, huh?” Dean teased, glee spreading to his fingertips for the first time in days. He pressed his fingertips to Cas's unshaven cheeks, hoping to transfer his euphoria through touch. “Well, I suppose I gotta be polite too, and fall in love with _you_ every day.”

They grinned at each other, exuberance vibrating through every part of their bodies. Nuzzling at half grown beards and dolour-deepened creases, they muttered 'missed you's and 'love you's before finally taking saddened mouths in each others and shaping them into smiles with delighted tongues and loving lips.

“Every day?” Castiel repeated, not in need of reassurance but in need of the feeling that oscillated in his every pore when the idea coursed through him like lightning. Dean nodded, a radiant smile spreading across his features.

“ _Every day.”_

 


	17. Epilogue

_Four months later_

The Impala roared through the starry night, its sleek black exterior blending in with the darkness, only the reflection of the moon glinting off the metal revealing it to the owls. Dean chose to keep his eyes on the road instead of the way the moonlight shone over Cas's peaceful features.

He had woken Cas early after careful web-surfing on sleep patterns, when cycles of sleep rotated and when REM was a thing. They'd just righted Cas's sleeping pattern again, so when  _the idea_ struck him, he'd done enough research to know that Cas's frustrations on his sleepless and restless nights wouldn't be annulled, and neither would the struggle of his withdrawal.

They were going to the beach.

Sure, it was 3:14am and spitting with rain, but there was nowhere else Dean would rather be. He had his car, his boyfriend/partner/lover Cas, and he was the happiest he'd ever been with his life since his mom baked him an apple pie on the day before the fire. Since he had started therapy, the depression he had felt mostly lurked in the corners of his mind, and rarely consumed him like it used to. Originally, he’d only agreed to go as a moral support thing. Cas was worried about starting his sessions, and apparently the only way to calm the constant fretting was to have his own damn sessions. Reluctantly, every time they ended, Dean felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he even took Dr. Moseley’s advice on board, as well as her prescriptions. They helped too, in a way that Cas's collective ones never really did.

The former was how he got the Impala back. After weeks of rebuilding his relationship with his Dad on Dr. Moseley's persuasion, and his Dad's insistence that he was willing to change, the car had been somewhat of a peace offering. Dean still hadn’t forgiven his father, but he appreciated the gesture of goodwill. John was disgruntledly warming up to the idea of his son in a homosexual relationship, too, so Dean couldn’t begrudge him too much.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Cas and his family, as their relationship was completely unsalvageable, save for Gabriel, who had popped in a couple of times since hearing that his little brother had got himself a boyfriend, mostly to make sure that neither had faked their deaths to prove the other's love. But Castiel was making progress outside of family. He had been weaned off of the amalgamation of medication he had been taking, and had a therapist who specialised in anxiety therapy. Cas was always more confident after his sessions, something that Dean found incredibly sexy.

Another thing Dr. Moseley had advised (and Cas's doctor had eagerly encouraged) was that they find friends outside of each other. For Cas, there was Alfie, once his assistant, now in training for the role of Co-Executive Client Liaisons Advisor – finally Castiel's job had a name - and surprisingly, Meg, the feisty brunette on his floor. She worried over Cas in a similar way to a cat mothering her kittens, always smoothing his hair and smartening his suit up. Dean didn't like her. That was his job. But she made Castiel's days a little brighter with her quick wit and playful teasing, and damn if Dean didn't love it when his boyfriend came home smiling. They had both grown quite attached to Jo (who Dean had apparently known for years) and Charlie, the waitresses in Shangri Latte's, and vice versa. The girls even let the couple stay behind when they closed a few times, but only if they helped to clear up while they all chatted. For Dean, he had Benny, a guy he had met through the 'Guitar for Beginners' class at the new community centre, the exact one Dean had almost fallen off. They had struck up a friendship as they bonded over playing and cooking for their other halves, and Benny had even given him a job at his custom boat-making business. Sam was visiting more often too, sometimes with Jess, sometimes without, but either way they were both on the right track to being the brothers they once were, and Dean didn't think he could be happier until he was asked to be the best man at their wedding.

Castiel stirred, and he frowned slightly, his eyes still glued closed with sleep as he realised his bearings. With great effort, he opened an eye and rubbed at the other to help it along. He gave Dean a lazy smile, trusting him enough to not ask where they were going. Wherever they were driving to, it was definitely going to be wonderful because Dean was with him, and that was all that mattered.

Taking a hand off the steering wheel, Dean laced his fingers through Castiel’s, ignoring the disapproving gaze he was being pierced with. He could drive his baby one handed, easy. He shot a shit-eating but tired grin right back at Cas and dragged his eyes back onto the road. They were almost there.

Cas snoozed off again, his hand still entwined with Dean’s. The ease in which he fell asleep now never ceased to amaze Dean. It had been days and weeks of waking up in the middle of the night to the left side of him cold and Cas-less, with only the hint of the pad of light feet restlessly walking around the apartment. Occasionally he’d get out of bed and give Cas a sleepy cuddle and a kiss somewhere that wasn’t his lips (Cas loved Dean, not so much his stale breath) before getting a glass of water and retreating back to bed. Cas had a routine for when he couldn’t sleep, and Dean didn’t want to mess it up.

The meandering side road on their next turn was the final stretch, and Dean drove slowly so as to not scratch his baby’s paintwork with the flicking of the gravel. He took a moment to drink in the view and smell the air, trying to push the memories of when they were last here to the back of his mind. Well, they weren’t _there_ , but it was close enough.

Dean wound down his window to hear the waves gently rolling against the beach and watched the moon glitter on the surface. The water was darker than the navy painted over the sky, and every time it kissed the sand, he felt himself relax a little more. Squeezing Cas’s hand to wake him, he leant over and pressed his lips to his neck, nuzzling the stubble that smattered it. Dean didn’t miss the fear that struck in his eyes, nor the agonising conflict that shortly followed.

“We’re just gonna walk along, ‘kay? We don’t have to go in,” Dean murmured against his scratchy skin.

Eventually, Cas nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’ve been meaning to come here anyway,” he gruffly said, summoning the courage he had learnt how to access and getting out of the car. He walked around to the driver’s side, opening the door, and pulling Dean out and up.

He took a deep breath of the sea air, exhaling shakily as he played with his fingers, and looking up through his eyelashes, he earnestly proclaimed the same thing he had proclaimed every day for four months. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you too, teddy bear,” Dean smiled, cherishing the roll of Cas’s eyes at the nickname. He’d got it after they’d gone thrift shopping and found a shirt with a teddy bear on, claiming ‘I wuv hugs’. Dean had coerced him into trying it on and almost died of laughter at the grumpy face Cas had pulled as he wore it. Naturally, he bought it, and it was now a pyjama shirt that swapped owners nightly if it wasn't too hot. “Now, what do you say to skinny dipping?”

They didn’t go skinny dipping, but they did chase each other along the stretch of shore and roll around in the damp sand like the children they could have been together, had circumstances been different. But neither would change their stories for the world, not if it meant erasing all the time they had spent together over the past six months.

The fleeting thought that it was the first day of spring fluttered through Castiel’s mind, and he was eager to see how the pink blossom of the the new season would reflect in Dean’s eyes. As he pinned Dean to the sand with a kiss, he wondered whether a person could be his new heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm relatively new to the fandom and fanfiction, so this is my longest ever piece, and I am still in utter disbelief that I have written something longer than Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Gay fanfiction, no less. It's also been my most personal piece, as writing Dean and Cas helped me escape and then get through some stuff I was dealing with and feeling, so...(am I really going to thank the characters? That's one of the weirder things I've done) thanks boys, I guess. Oh, a side note - The Sam in this was inspired by the Sams in the What Is and What Should Never Be episode with a little bit of soulless!Sam, and it pretty much broke my heart to write him like this because I love Sam, but he needed to be less...Sam, if you know what I mean, so I could break Dean even more. Sorry about that.
> 
> Anyway! Big big thank you to Sam ([casfallen](http://casfallen.tumblr.com)/[followingbutterflies](/users/followingbutterflies)), my wonderful friend who I love to corrupt with emotional fanfiction, my beta, and my DCBB buddy. Even though I had already planned this and written the first chapter, I don't think I would have gone through with it without her agreeing to sign up to this madness with me. I was honestly so surprised that you liked it enough to read more than once! Thanks again, and go gorge yourself with Starbucks and peanut butter on ricecakes or something, because you deserve it. 
> 
> Again, thank you to [Corinne](http://ypt-leafonthewindwind.tumblr.com), I honestly love your art, I have done from the moment I stalked your blog after claims, in fact. You are so so talented, and you were really lovely to work with and to chat with in general!
> 
> [Miriel](http://gothicmiriel-of-the-fandoms.tumblr.com), thank you so much for reading this and not hating it. You'll say that you could never hate anything of mine, but it meant a lot that you liked it and said it was awesome. You're awesome. Seriously. You even made some wonderful stuff for it, and those messages were some of the best I've ever had, and the first one you did made me so happy I may or may not have welled up a little.
> 
> Thanks to the many many trains and train stations I frequented while I wrote this, and to the beds at uni and at both my parents'. Without you three beds, I would have been very uncomfortable writing and editing the rest of this. Also, thanks to my boss, who decided to open the ice cream shop in 5 degree weather (on the seafront), because without freezing in the five layers I was in, I would have never put on Kansas's [Audio Visions](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKJFs_Ntu_g) on repeat and been inspired to write 'Hold On' on the back of used receipts.
> 
> Thanks to the mods who run this whole shebang. You guys do a really great job.
> 
> Finally, thanks to you, the reader. Thank you for reading this all the way to the notes and acknowledgements, and for reading this when you could (and should) probably be doing other things. If you liked it, feel free to leave a comment or talk to me [here.](http://ghostran.tumblr.com)


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